“Yes, I think so. Jervis's stroke is worth two of theirs. A very little more powder would do it.”
“Then we must have a little more powder.”
“Ay, but how are we to get it? Who can you put in?”
“You!” said Tom, sitting up. “There, now, that's just what I am come about. Drysdale is to go out. Will you pull next race? They all want you to row.”
“Do they?” said Hardy, quietly (but Tom could see that his eye sparkled at the notion, though he was too proud to show how much he was pleased); “then they had better come and ask me themselves.”
“Well, you cantankerous old party, they're coming, I can tell you!” said Tom in great delight. “The Captain just sent me to break ground, and will be here directly himself. I say now, Hardy,” he went on, “don't you say no. I've set my heart upon it. I'm sure we shall bump them if you pull.”
“I don't know that,” said Hardy, getting up, and beginning to make tea, to conceal the excitement he was in at the idea of rowing; “you see I'm not in training.”
“Gammon,” said Tom, “you're always in training, and you know it.”
“Well,” said Hardy, “I can't be in worse than Drysdale. He has been of no use above the Gut these last three nights.”
“That's just what Miller says,” said Tom, “and here comes the Captain.” There was a knock at the door while he spoke, and Jervis and Miller entered.