“Take care what you're coming to.” It is the coxswain of the bumped boat who speaks.
Tom, looking round, finds himself within a foot or two of him; and, being utterly unable to contain his joy, and unwilling to exhibit it before the eyes of a gallant rival, turns away towards the shore, and begins telegraphing to Hardy.
“Now then, what are you at there in the bows? Cast her off quick. Come, look alive! Push across at once out of the way of the other boats.”
“I congratulate you, Jervis,” says the Exeter stroke as the St. Ambrose boat shot past him. “Do it again next race and I sha'n't care.”
“We were within three lengths of Brazen-nose when we bumped,” says the all-observant Miller in a low voice.
“All right,” answers the Captain; “Brazen-nose isn't so strong as usual. We sha'n't have much trouble there, but a tough job up above, I take it.”
“Brazen-nose was better steered than Exeter.”
“They muffed it in the Gut, eh?” said the Captain. “I thought so by the shouts.”
“Yes, we were pressing them a little down below, and their coxswain kept looking over his shoulder. He was in the Gut before he knew it, and had to pull his left hand hard or they would have fouled the Oxfordshire corner. That stopped their way, and in we went.”
“Bravo; and how well we started too.”