There is a much greater crowd than usual opposite the two first boats. By this time most of the other boats have found their places, for there is not much chance of anything very exciting down below; so, besides the men of Oriel and St. Ambrose (who muster to-night of all sorts, the fastest of the fast and the slowest of the slow having been by this time shamed into something like enthusiasm), many of other colleges, whose boats have no chance of bumping or being bumped, flock to the point of attraction.
“Do you make out what the change is?” says a backer of Oriel to his friend in the like predicament.
“Yes, they've got a No. 5, don't you see, and, by George, I don't like his looks,” answered his friend; “awfully long and strong in the arm, and well ribbed up. A devilish awkward customer. I shall go and try to get a hedge.”
“Pooh,” says the other, “did you ever know one man win a race?”
“Ay, that I have,” says his friend, and walks off toward the Oriel crowd to take five to four on Oriel in half-sovereigns, if he can get it.
Now their dark friend of yesterday comes up at a trot, and pulls up close to the Captain, with whom he is evidently dear friends. He is worth looking at, being coxswain of the O. U. B., the best steerer, runner and swimmer in Oxford; amphibious himself and sprung from an amphibious race. His own boat is in no danger, so he has left her to take care of herself. He is on the look-out for recruits for the University crew, and no recruiting sergeant has a sharper eye for the sort of stuff he requires.
“What's his name?” he says in a low tone to Jervis, giving a jerk with his head towards Hardy. “Where did you get him?”
“Hardy,” answers the Captain, in the same tone; “it's his first night in the boat.”
“I know that,” replies the coxswain; “I never saw him row before yesterday. He's the fellow who sculls in that brown skiff, isn't he?”
“Yes, and I think he'll do; keep your eye on him.”