As “old Bosher” was at that moment engaged in super-human efforts to keep his balance with one hand, and extricate his oar, which had feathered two feet under the surface of the water, with the other, this illustration was particularly effective and picturesque.
“Oh, he’s an awful cad,” said Wakefield, who was rowing bow. “He reported me to Wyndham last term for letting off crackers in bed.”
“What a beastly shame!” was the sympathising chorus.
“And you know—” added King.
But as Bosher fell rather violently backward into his lap at this instant, and let his oar go altogether, what King was going to say did not come out.
After a vast amount of manoeuvring, back-watering, shouting, and reaching to recover the lost oar, the voyage proceeded.
They had not proceeded far when the racing-boat of their house, manned by Bloomfield, Game, Tipper, and Ashley, and coached from the bank by Mr Parrett himself, spun past them in fine style and at a great rate. As became loyal Parretts, the juniors pulled into the bank to let the four-oar pass, and, not content with this act of homage, they volunteered a round of vehement applause into the bargain.
“Bravo! Well rowed, our house! Two to one on Parrett’s! Three cheers for Bloomfield! Three cheers for the captain! Hooroo!”
With this gratifying salute the boat darted out of sight round the bend, leaving the juniors once more to continue on their festive way.
“Isn’t old Bloomfield a stunner?” said Lawkins. “He’s the sort of fellow for captain! Not that schoolhouse idiot, Riddell.”