Fairbairn is as cool as ever. To look at him he might be just starting for a quiet saunter up-stream. And the crew behind him are equally composed, as they lie on their oars waiting for the start.
But the Parrett’s crew, as they come smartly up and take their outside berth, receive an ovation far beyond that of their rivals. They are undoubtedly the popular crew, as well as the favourites.
Every man in the boat has done something for Willoughby in times past, and as the boys see their heroes ready now for a fresh triumph, they forget all about their little tyrannies indoors, and cheer them like mad.
“Bravo Parrett’s. Bravo, Bloomfield! Hurrah, captain! You’re to win.”
Even the Welchers for the moment join in the popular clamour.
“Go it, you cripples!” cries Cusack, encouragingly; “no milksop captains. Two to one on Bloomfield!”
All this time the boats are lying in position. Mr Parrett on the little steam-launch behind surveys them critically, and satisfies himself that all is square. Then he advances to the prow of his boat and shouts the usual question.
The next moment he gives the word, and the two boats dart forward like arrows from a bow, and the race has begun.
Gilks and Silk up above Willow Corner heard the shout which greeted the start, and turned anxiously towards the direction from which it came.
“They’re off now!” said Silk, trying to appear more unconcerned than he really was.