The Eight-Oared Victors: A Story of College Water Sports
by Lester Chadwick · English · Gutenberg #42403 · 375,409 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Eight-Oared Victors: A Story of College Water Sports
Author: Lester Chadwick
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[Illustration: THE FINISH LINE WAS BUT A HUNDRED FEET AWAY.]
THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
A Story of College Water Sports
by
LESTER CHADWICK
Author of "The Rival Pitchers," "A Quarter-Back's
Pluck," "The Winning Touchdown," "Baseball
Joe of the Silver Stars," "Baseball Joe
at Yale," etc.
Illustrated
New York
Cupples & Leon Company
* * * * *
=BOOKS BY LESTER CHADWICK=
=THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES=
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
THE RIVAL PITCHERS
A QUARTER-BACK'S PLUCK
BATTING TO WIN
THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN
FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL
THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
=THE BASEBALL JOE SERIES=
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
BASEBALL JOE OF THE SILVER STARS
Or, The Rivals of Riverside
BASEBALL JOE ON THE SCHOOL NINE
Or, Pitching for the Blue Banner
BASEBALL JOE AT YALE
Or, Pitching for the College Championship
(Other volumes in preparation)
_Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York_
* * * * *
Copyright, 1913, by
Cupples & Leon Company
THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I GREAT NEWS 1
II THE FLOOD 15
III THE MISSING TROPHIES 24
IV IMPLIED ACCUSATION 32
V THE CLUE 45
VI THE PRACTICE SHELL 53
VII THE FIRST TRIAL 62
VIII RUTH'S LOSS 72
IX ON CREST ISLAND 81
X THE GAY HANDKERCHIEF 90
XI THE FIRST BREAK 101
XII A FRIENDLY BRUSH 112
XIII THE LONG VACATION 118
XIV OFF FOR CAMP 126
XV THE OLD GRADUATE 132
XVI THE GIRLS 141
XVII AT PRACTICE 147
XVIII "SENOR BOSWELL" 156
XIX JEALOUSY 162
XX A STRANGE CONFERENCE 174
XXI IN THE SHACK 181
XXII THE PAWN TICKETS 188
XXIII TWO MISSING MEN 194
XXIV BACK AT RANDALL 203
XXV THE NEW SHELLS 209
XXVI "ROW HARD!" 216
XXVII A BRUSH WITH BOXER 242
XXVIII FAINT HEARTS 247
XXIX THE REGATTA 253
XXX A CLOSE FINISH 266
XXXI THE TUB RACE 273
XXXII BOSWELL'S CHANCE 279
XXXIII MENDEZ EXPLAINS 289
XXXIV THE GREAT RACE 297
XXXV THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS 302
THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
CHAPTER I
GREAT NEWS
"And after this--the deluge, I suppose," quoted Tom Parsons as he gazed
moodily out of the window of his study, and watched the raindrops
splashing on the ledge, running down the pipe, and forming one of many
streams that trickled over the green college campus. "Is it never going
to stop?" he went on, turning toward his three chums. "It's rained
now----"
"Oh, for the love of differential calculus!" cried Phil Clinton, "can't
you talk of anything but the weather, Tom? I'm sick of hearing it
discussed."
"No sicker than I am of hearing it pour," retorted the first speaker.
"The rain certainly does seem to stick around," added Sid Henderson, as
he endeavored to arise from a decrepit armchair--one of the twins--that
added comfort to the college study. "I'm so damp, and altogether gluey,
that it's all I can do to get up. Lend me a hand somebody!" he appealed.
"'Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears!'" recited Tom in the
best schoolboy style. "Can't you manage to assist yourself, Sid; or are
you getting too fat?"
"Fat! Huh! I guess if you'd trained the way I did for those track games
you wouldn't be fat!" was shot out in protest.
"Train! Listen to him, Phil. Just because he won his big jump he thinks
that's all there is. Why----"
"Hold on," put in Phil, quietly. "You fellows will get on each other's
nerves if you continue. And you're certainly getting on mine. How do
you expect me to bone away if you're going on like this? That fussy
alarm clock is bad enough--I don't know why we tolerate the old thing
anyhow--but when you two get to scrapping, and this confounded rain
never lets up, why it's the extreme edge, so to speak."
"It is the rain, I guess," spoke Tom Parsons, in a low voice. "It's
enough to get on anyone's nerves. A straight week now," and he drummed
on the wet window-pane, while Phil turned over on an old sofa, that
creaked dismally, and tried to get a better light on his book. But the
gloom outside seemed to have found a place in the study room.
"Easy on that ancient and honorable piece of furniture!" cautioned Tom,
as he looked anxiously at the sofa, which seemed to groan in protest at
Phil's weight. "It won't stand much more mending, and that's no idle
dream."
"Don't worry," said Phil, easily. "I think as much of this sofa as any
of you."
"Um!" grunted Tom moodily, as he crossed over to the other armchair
and threw himself into it at no small risk of going through the seat.
"What's a fellow to do?" he asked.
Neither of his chums answered him. Sid had managed to rise without
anyone's aid, and was examining a pile of books, as though trying to
pick out the one containing the easiest lessons.
"Where's Frank?" asked Tom, after a silence.
"I saw the Big Californian crossing the campus awhile ago," replied
Phil, closing his book and yawning. "He was bundled up in a raincoat,
and seemed as chipper as a clam at high tide."
"Wish I had the spunk to go out," commented Sid. "The river must be
nearly flood-high by this time, with all the water that's fallen."
"Water! Ugh! Don't mention it," begged Tom.
Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the ticking of the fussy
little alarm clock. There was the rustle of the pages, as the two lads,
studying, turned to various lessons. Tom got up with an impatient
exclamation, and passed into one of the four small bedrooms that opened
out of the main study.
"I think I'll take a chance and go out!" he announced. "It's as dull as
ditchwater in here. You fellows are about as cheerful as a wake."
"Um!" grunted Phil. Sid did not take the trouble to reply.
"That's right. Be grumpy!" said Tom, sarcastically.
Clearly the weather was getting on the nerves of all of them. And small
wonder, for it had rained almost steadily for a week, and the stone
piles that made up Randall College seemed soaked through to the very
wall paper. The campus was like a sponge, and the walks, where they were
not gravel, were ribbons of mud.
"Lucky we got our Spring games over with, before this flood set in,"
went on Tom.
There was no answer.
"What's the matter; have you fellows lost your tongues?" he demanded,
sharply.
He paused in the act of slipping off a lounging coat preparatory to
putting on an outdoor garment. Sid and Phil avoided his glance. At that
moment the door into the hall opened and there stepped into the study a
big lad, attired in a raincoat, that dripped moisture at every seam.
"Hello, Duck!" greeted Sid with a cheerful grin.
"Where have you been, Frank?" asked Tom. "I was just coming out to join
you."
Evidently this was Frank Simpson, the "Big Californian," the reason for
the nickname being obvious.
"Come ahead--all of you," invited Frank. "It isn't so bad, and I guess
it's going to clear up."
"I believe you're right!" agreed Tom, and there was an instant change in
his voice. "It has almost stopped. Come on!" he cried. "You fellows stop
boning, and we'll make a party of it. It's early yet, only the clouds
make it seem dark."
"Wait a minute," suggested Frank, as he saw that the others were likely
to fall in with Tom's idea. "Have you fellows heard the news?"
"Has Moses granted a Roman holiday?" asked Sid.
"Or has Pitchfork consented to resign?" added Phil.
"Neither one. This is the greatest news ever. And it's just the kind
of a day to impart it, for it has to do with water. Fellows, do you
think Randall could get into the rowing game--I mean as it ought to
be gotten into? Do you think we could make up a crew--or two crews
for that matter--an eight and four--that could put it all over Boxer
Hall and Fairview Academy? Do you think we could turn out some
four-and-eight-oared victors?"
Frank paused in his enthusiastic questions, and gazed at his chums
through a mist of moisture that seemed to emanate from his damp person.
"Do you?" he repeated, for they were silent.
"What does he mean?" asked Tom.
"He speaketh in riddles," added Phil.
"Mayhap he but jesteth," came from Sid.
"No joke at all," said Frank with a smiling good nature. "This is the
very latest news, and I think I'm one of the first fellows to hear it.
Listen and I will a tale unfold."
"Well, as long as it's only a tale you're going to unfold, and not that
wet raincoat, proceed, most noble Brutus," begged Tom.
"Oh, let up with the jollying, and let's hear the news," suggested Phil.
"In brief, then, it's this," went on Frank. "A number of old grads,
who, it seems, used to be fonder of rowing and sculling than anything
else when they were at Randall, have had a meeting, and they decided to
subscribe ten thousand dollars to fit us up with a dandy boathouse and
shells--that is if we'll consent to accept----"
"Accept! I guess yes, with running shoes on!" cried Phil.
"There's a sort of a string attached to it," went on Frank.
"What is it? Do we have to raise an additional ten thousand dollars?"
asked Tom, suspiciously.
"No, nothing as hard as that. But we have to form a regular rowing
association, and promise to work our level best to be the champions of
the river and lake. Shall we do it?"
For a moment there was silence. And then Tom cried:
"Of course we will!"
"Why shouldn't we?" demanded Phil.
"Say, this is great!" came from Sid. "Randall going to have a crew at
last! It's about time. But I say," he went on, "it's too late this term
to think of it. Why we only have a few more weeks before the Summer
vacation."
"I know it," replied Frank, "and the idea is to get things in shape the
remainder of this term, and have a regatta early in the Fall, before the
football season opens. I think we can induce Boxer Hall and Fairview to
enter into that sort of agreement, even if those two colleges do row
each other every Spring."
"Good idea," commented Tom.
"Say, Frank, how comes it that you know all this?" asked Sid.
"Merely by accident," answered the Big Californian. "I was coming across
the campus just now, plowing along through the water with my head down,
and I ran plump into Moses and Dr. Marshall. I begged their pardons, of
course, and was about to go on when Moses, looking at the doctor, said:
"'Perhaps we had better tell him, and have him sound some of the
others.'"
"I began to pick up my ears at that and wonder what was in the wind.
And when Dr. Marshall came back with: 'It wouldn't be a bad idea,' I
knew something was up. The upshot of it was that Moses took me into his
confidence. Ahem!" and Frank swelled up his chest.
"Go on, you rooster!" commanded Tom.
"Tell us about the crew," begged Sid.
"Well, that's it. Dr. Churchill said he had just received the offer from
a number of the wealthy old grads. who, it seems, got together, had a
sort of meeting, and voted that the decline of water activity at Randall
College was a shame.
"It seems that they used to be regular sharks at rowing in their day,
and they passed a resolution that, whereas Randall had done well at
baseball, football and in track athletics, nevertheless she was a back
number when it came to rowing.
"Therefore, 'be it resolved, and it is hereby resolved,' and all that
sort of thing, you know. Then they subscribed the ten thousand dollars,
and the only condition is that we promise to do our best to become
champions."
"Which we'll do without question," said Tom.
"Of course," added Phil.
"But it's going to take a lot of work," commented Sid. "We'll need all
the time between now and Fall to get in shape. But what can we practice
in? We haven't any decent shells."
"We can get some second-hand ones for practice," said Frank, "and I
understand the old grads will have the new ones ready for us in the
Fall, together with the new boathouse. We can also practice during our
vacation."
"Good!" cried Tom. "It makes me feel better already. I want to get out
on the water right now."
"And a little while ago you thought there was altogether too much
water," commented Phil, drily.
"Oh, well," excused Tom, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I say, it is
clearing!" he cried. "Come on down and get into a boat. Even one of the
old tubs will answer, and we can talk this thing over."
"That's what I came in to propose," said Frank. "As we are among the
older students here, it will be sort of up to us to spread the idea. I
think everybody will take to it, though."
"It's about time we took a fall out of Boxer Hall on the water,"
declared Sid. "Fairview isn't in it so much, though she came mighty near
beating Boxer in the eight one year."
The rain had ceased, there probably being no more water left in the
sky, as Sid remarked. The four chums--the "Inseparables," as they were
called, slipped off their lounging jackets--at least Sid and Phil did,
for Tom already had done so--and soon all were on their way to Sunny
River, on the bank of which the various buildings of Randall College
were situated. Over the soggy campus they took their way, meeting no
one, for no one else seemed to have the courage to venture out.
Though the institution had not boasted of a rowing association, or crew,
in some years, there was a boathouse, and a number of craft owned by
the students, and it was toward this structure that our friends betook
themselves.
"Let's take the big barge," suggested Tom. "Then we can all get in it
and talk."
"It's as heavy as lead," complained Phil. "It will be all right rowing
down stream, but coming back we'll have a hard pull."
"What of it?" demanded Frank. "It will be good practice for us if we're
going to try for the crew."
"That's right, we will have to make tries to see who are the best
oarsmen," remarked Tom. "I wonder if Mr. Lighton is a good coach when
it comes to rowing? I know he's all right at football and baseball,
but----"
"I believe Dr. Churchill mentioned that if we took up this offer, one of
the old grads, who was a crackerjack oarsman in his day, might come and
give us some pointers," put in Frank.
"Well, let's get out. Say, but the river is high, though," Tom
exclaimed, as they came in sight of the stream. The rain of the past
week had raised it considerably, and it was now rushing swiftly along,
a muddy stream, far from bearing out its name--Sunny.
"The barge is as safe as a ferry-boat," commented Sid. "It can't upset."
"All right, I'm game," declared Tom. "Let's row down to Tonoka Lake, and
see what's going on there."
This lake was a large body of water into which the river emptied--in
fact it was more like the widening of the stream than a real lake, but a
lake it was called in spite of that. In its centre was Crest Island, of
good size.
Soon the four students were in the barge, a four-oared craft, with
enough seats so that the quartette could row with an oar each, after
the manner of those in a shell.
"Take out the rudder," directed Frank. "We'll have to make our own
course, for it can't be worked by one's feet as in a four-oared shell."
Phil unshipped the rudder, and they rowed out into the middle of the
stream. It was easy going down with the current, but they realized that
it would be harder coming back. However, they were out for practice as
much as anything else, and did not mind a stiff pull.
"I wonder what sort of a stroke we pull?" said Tom, as they rowed on.
"Oh, we probably have lots of faults," admitted Frank. "But they can be
corrected."
"It's a pretty big chunk to bite off--to think of beating Boxer Hall,
where the fellows have been rowing for years, and we just starting in,"
commented Sid.
"Oh, stranger things have happened," declared Tom. "We can do it."
Then began a spirited discussion of the splendid offer that had been
made to Randall, and a talk as to what the other students would think of
it. The four chums were enthusiastic over the prospect.
"Say," called Tom, after a bit. "This is all right, and lots of fun, but
we've come down quite a way, and we've got to think of going back. This
current is fierce."
"Quitter!" called Phil.
"Nothing of the sort--I've got common-sense," was the retort.
"Tom is right," said Frank Simpson, in a quiet voice. "We mustn't overdo
the thing. It is going to be a stiffish pull back, and we don't want to
be late for dinner--I don't anyhow."
They had rowed down to where the river widened into the lake. There was
a Summer picnic ground near here, and on the higher slopes of land, back
from the water, were a number of fine residences, the estates running
down to the shore edge. Many of the places had boathouses.
As the boys came opposite one of these they saw a small motor-boat turn
in toward a shelter, the doors of which were open. There was a lone man
in the boat, and he skillfully directed her course across the current.
"Let's pull over there and rest before going back," suggested Sid,
and the others agreed. They reached the boathouse and dock in time to
see the man in the motor-boat close and lock the door, with his craft
inside. Apparently he did not notice the boys, who were working to get
in on the downstream side of the float, so they could be out of the
current for a little while.
"There," remarked the man from the motor-boat, as he walked out of the
shore-door of the house, also locking that after him, "I guess things
will be safe in there until I come back. I won't be gone long. Maybe
I ought to take them with me but they're heavy, and I've got to go up
hill--I guess I'll leave them," and he started up the slope from the
river, toward a fine residence on the hill.
"He must have money in the bank--talking to himself that way," remarked
Tom, in a low voice.
"I wonder what it is he's leaving in his boat?" spoke Phil.
"He trusts us, anyhow," laughed Frank.
"He didn't see us," came from Sid. "Anyhow the place is locked."
The boys rested there by the boathouse for several minutes.
Tom was about to propose that they start back, for it looked cloudy
again, as if the rain would begin once more. But before he could mention
this fact Sid exclaimed:
"Here comes the Boxer Hall shell! Say, look at those fellows row!"
"They are hitting up the pace!" agreed Frank.
All looked to see a fine eight-oared shell fairly scudding over the
water under the impulse of the sixteen sturdy arms of the rowers.
"We'll soon be doing that," said Phil, in a low voice. And then some of
the lads in the shell looked over and saw our friends.
CHAPTER II
THE FLOOD
"Hello, you fellows!" called Dave Ogden, who was acting as the coxswain
of the shell, waving his megaphone at them. "Out for practice?" and he
grinned as he looked at the heavy barge.
"Yes, we're getting ready to order a new shell," answered Tom.
"Ha! Ha! That's pretty good. Maybe you think you can beat us rowing!"
and Dave looked not a little proudly at the eight lads whose efforts he
had been directing. They had been out for a spin on the lake, and were
now coming back rather leisurely.
"We will beat you--some day!" declared Frank.
"Maybe you'd better not tell them about our shell until we get it,"
suggested Tom, in a low voice.
"Oh, they'll have to know it some time or other," declared Frank. "It
will be all over the college in a day or so, and Boxer Hall is sure
to learn of it. Besides, I want to get things stirred up a bit. But
they'll only think we're joking, so far."
The eight-oared shell passed on with a sweep, the rowers making good
time against the current. But then the craft was so much like a knife
that it offered scarcely any resistance to the water.
"Row easy, all!" came the command from Dave Ogden, and the rowers
reduced the number of their strokes per minute. They were closer to
shore now, and out of the worst grip of the current. The coxswain
waved his megaphone at our friends in a friendly fashion, and then
gave his attention to his crew. Though there was rivalry--sometimes
bitter--between Randall and Boxer Hall, the students were, for the most
part, very friendly.
"Jove! It will be great to get in that game!" exclaimed Tom with a sigh,
as he watched the rival's shell.
"And we'll do it, too!" declared Frank, earnestly.
"Well, let's be getting back," suggested Sid; and the others agreed that
this might be a wise thing to do.
And while they are returning to college I will, in order that my
new readers may have a better understanding of the characters, tell
something of the books that precede this in the "College Sports Series."
Our first volume was called "The Rival Pitchers," and told how Tom
Parsons, then a raw country lad, came to Randall College, with the idea
of getting on the baseball nine. He succeeded, but it was only after
a hard struggle and bitter rivalry. Tom made good against heavy odds.
The second volume had to deal with college football, under the title,
"A Quarter-back's Pluck," and in that I related how Phil Clinton, under
trying circumstances, won the championship gridiron battle for his
eleven.
"Batting to Win," the third book of the series, was, as the title
indicates, a baseball story. Besides the accounts of the diamond
contests, there was related the manner in which was solved a queer
mystery surrounding Sid Henderson. Going back to football interests,
in the fourth book, "The Winning Touchdown," there will be found many
accounts of pigskin matters. Also how Tom Parsons, and his chums, saved
the college from ruin in a strange manner.
The book immediately preceding this volume was "For the Honor of
Randall," and while it was, in the main, a story of various college
athletics, there is detailed how a certain charge, involving the honor
of Frank Simpson, and incidentally his college, was disproved.
My old readers know much about Randall, but I might mention, for
the benefit of my new friends, that the college was located on the
outskirts of the town of Haddonfield, in the middle west. Near the
institution ran Sunny River, as I have said, and it was on this stream,
and the connecting lake, that it was proposed to have Randall enter into
aquatic sports. Randall, Boxer Hall and Fairview Institute--the latter a
co-educational college--had formed the Tonoka Lake League in athletics,
though in rowing only the two latter colleges had competed. But this was
soon to be changed.
At the head of Randall was Dr. Albertus Churchill, dubbed Moses, in
affectionate terms. Dr. Emerson Tines, alias "Pitchfork," was head
Latin instructor, and Mr. Andrew Zane was proctor. Dr. Marshall was a
physician in residence, and also gave instruction in various lines.
Tom, Phil, Sid and Frank roomed together. Formerly they had had a large
single dormitory to themselves, doing their studying there, and going
from there to classes, lectures or chapel--but not the latter when it
could conveniently be "cut." In the book just before this I told of the
Spring track games in which Randall had managed to come out the victor.
These had been past a week or two when the present story opens.
Just after the games there had been thrown open to the use of the
students a new dormitory, and study-building, with rooms arranged _en
suite_, and the four chums had taken a large central apartment, with
bedrooms opening from it. This gave them a much more convenient place
than formerly.
But, if they changed their room, they did not change the furniture--at
least they kept all the old, though getting some new. Among the former,
were the two ancient armchairs, known to my readers, and the decrepit
sofa, which had been mended until it seemed that nothing of the original
was there. And then there was the alarm clock, which served to awaken
the lads--that is, when they did not stop it from ticking by jabbing a
toothpick somewhere up in the interior mechanism.
As for the friends of our heroes they were many, and their enemies few.
You will meet them, old as well as new, as the story progresses.
"There sure is some water!" exclaimed Tom, as he gazed from shore to
shore of the turbulent stream.
"And it's getting higher," added Phil.
"And going to rain more," came from Sid.
"Oh, there'll be a flood sure, if you calamity-howlers have your way,"
remarked Frank. "Give way there! What are you doing, Phil--stalling on
me?"
"Say, who made you the coxswain, anyhow?" demanded the aggrieved one.
The boys reached Randall just as the downpour began again, but their
spirits had been raised by the row, and by the good news which Frank
had heard. It was confirmed a little later by an announcement on the
bulletin board, calling for a meeting of the athletic committee, within
a few days, to consider the matter.
"Say, this is going to be great!" cried Holly Cross, one of the football
squad. "Rowing is something Randall always needed."
"And she needs rowers, too, don't forget that, Holly, me lad!" exclaimed
Bricktop Molloy, a genial Irish lad who was taking a post-graduate
course, after an absence of some time at Columbia and with a mining
concern. Some said he came back to Randall merely because he loved her
athletics so, but Bricktop, with a ruffling up of his red hair would
say, half-savagely:
"I deny the allegation, sir, and I defy the alligator!" an old joke but
a good one.
"Oh, we'll get the rowers," was the confident declaration of many, and
then the lads, gathering in the gymnasium, or in the rooms of one and
another, talked over the coming rowing contests.
It rained all night, and part of the next day, and then seemed to clear
off for good.
"What about another spin on the river?" asked Tom, after his last
lecture. "I'm ready for it."
"So am I," declared Sid, and the remaining two fell into line. Several
other lads agreed to accompany the four inseparables, and soon quite a
group was headed for the river.
"Say, look at that; would you!" cried Phil, as they came in sight of the
stream. "That's a flood all right!"
"I should say so!" remarked Tom. "Why, it's almost up to the doors of
the boathouse, and it hasn't been that high in years!"
"Some water," agreed Frank. "I wonder if it's safe to go out? Look at
that current!"
"Safe! Of course it's safe!" exclaimed Phil. "I've seen it worse."
"But not with so much wreckage in the river," added Tom. "Look at those
big logs. If one of them even hit the barge it would smash a hole in it."
"There's part of a chicken-coop!" cried Sid, pointing to the object
floating down the river.
"Yes, and there's half a cow-shed, if I'm any judge," went on Frank.
"The river sure is high," conceded Phil. "I did want to take a run down
to Fairview, and see Sis, but----"
"See your sister!" jeered Sid. "I know who you want to see down there
all right," for while Phil's sister, Ruth, attended the co-educational
institution, so did Madge Tyler, of whom Phil was very fond, and also
Mabel Harrison, in whom Sid was more than ordinarily interested.
Besides, there were "others."
"I was going to row down," declared Phil, stoutly. "But I can go by
trolley."
"Oh, let's try a little row," suggested Tom. "If we find the current is
too strong, we can come back and take a car. I'd like to see the girls."
"Brave youth! To admit that!" exclaimed Frank. "I fancy we all would.
Well, let's get out the boat."
But they found the flood too much for them. Venturing only a little way
out from shore they were gripped in the current with such force that
they saw it would be folly to proceed. Accordingly, they put back, as
did their companions in other boats.
As they were tying up at the boathouse, Wallops, one of the college
messengers, came in.
"Did you hear about it?" he demanded, apparently much excited.
"About what?" he was asked.
"A lot of boathouses down the river have been washed away in the flood,"
he went on. "The small one at Boxer Hall came near going, but they
anchored it with ropes. One of their small shells was smashed. Oh, it's
a bad flood all right!"
"Well, we can't help it," said Tom. "I guess the trolley cars are still
running. Come on, fellows, if we're going to Fairview Institute."
So, leaving the boathouse, they started for the trolley line.
"We'll take a row down the river to-morrow, and see what damage the
flood did," called Sid to Wallops, as they moved away. They little
realized what they would find, or what part it would play in the history
of Randall.
CHAPTER III
THE MISSING TROPHIES
"Boys, you really must go!"
"Oh, can't we stay just a bit longer?"
"No, not another minute. Miss Philock has sent up twice to say that
you've stayed long enough."
"I think her clock is wrong."
"We haven't been here ten minutes."
"Oh, Sid Henderson! Why, it's over half an hour!" exclaimed Mabel
Harrison.
"And he's the fellow who didn't use to like the girls!" said Tom, with
conviction. "Oh, Rome, how art thou fallen!"
"Cut it out!" growled Sid, under his breath.
The four chums had called on their friends and Phil's sister at Fairview
Institute, and the result can easily be imagined by the foregoing
conversation. There had been jolly talk, a telling of the new chance
that had unexpectedly come to Randall, and then the appeal of the girls
that the boys must go--not because the girls wanted them to--but
because Miss Philock, the head of the co-educational institution, deemed
it necessary.
"But we can come again; can't we?" asked Frank, as they paused at the
door. Somewhere down the corridor a thin lady, with thin lips, was
narrowly watching the group of young people.
"Sure we can come again!" declared Phil. "They can't stop me from seeing
my sister."
"Or someone else's," put in Tom, mischievously.
"Tom! Stop it!" cried Madge Tyler. "She'll hear you."
"But we will come!" declared Frank.
"I don't see how we poor girls can prevent you," said Helen Newton, with
a mischievous glance of her eyes.
"Young ladies!" came a warning voice from down the corridor.
"Oh, you really must go!" exclaimed Ruth Clinton.
"All right," agreed Tom. "We'll be back soon. When is the next dance?"
"We'll send you cards," replied Madge Tyler. "Good-bye!"
And the boys moved off, with many backward glances, while the girls
lingered in the doorway of the reception hall until Miss Philock
advanced to garner them into her charge.
"Young ladies!" she began severely, "if your friends overstay their time
again I shall not permit them to see you--even if they are _brothers_!"
and she looked at Ruth.
"Horrid thing!" murmured Madge. "I'll be glad when vacation comes."
"Are your folks going to camp on Crest Island again?" asked Ruth, naming
the resort in Tonoka Lake.
"I think so. Papa sent a man up to look over the cottage this week, to
see if it needed any repairs. And, girls, if we do go, I want you all
to spend several weeks with me!" cried Madge Tyler. "We will have a
scrumptious time!"
When the boys got back to Randall they found some mild excitement there.
Further word had come from the committee of old graduates that they had
perfected their arrangements in the matter of supplying Randall with all
that was necessary to enter into aquatic sports, and there was a request
that the students at once hold a meeting, and decide whether or not they
would accept the offer.
Of course it is not necessary to say that the boys did accept. A meeting
was called for that same evening, and it was enthusiastically voted
to accept the generous offer, with thanks. It was voted to have an
eight-oared crew, as well as a four, while as many singles as could be
arranged, with possibly a double. A committee was appointed to secure
some second-hand shells for practice, pending the arrival of the new
ones in the Fall.
Another committee was named to negotiate with Boxer Hall and Fairview
Institute, looking to planning for the races in the Fall.
"If they won't meet us then, we'll have to wait until next Spring," said
Frank Simpson.
"Oh, I guess they're sports enough to give us a race this Fall,"
declared Tom. "We'll try, anyhow."
It was now June and the weather, after the long rain, was perfect.
Within a few days Boxer Hall and Fairview would meet in their annual
water carnival, swimming as well as boat races, and, as some of the
Randall boys had entered in the swimming contests, it was planned to
send a big delegation from that college to the meet.
"We can get a line on their rowing that way," said Sid, and the others
agreed with him.
Meanwhile the flooded river was subsiding, and a few days after their
visit to the girls, our four friends went out for a row again. In the
meanwhile they had secured some books on the subject of sculling, and,
as they went down stream, they endeavored to correct their faults.
But, as is always the case when you try to do something opposite to the
way you have learned it, whether that way be good or bad, there was
trouble.
"I can't row for a cent the way the book says it ought to be done,"
declared Tom.
"Me either," came from Sid.
"And yet that's the right way," said Frank. "I guess we'll get on to it
after a bit. But let's row our old way now, and go down to Crest Island.
That will make a good distance, and test our wind. Later we can row
right. Anyhow, if we have a coach he'll show us the ropes. Give way now,
everybody!"
They made good speed, and, a little later, were nearing the island, the
largest one of three or four that dotted the lake. Crest Island was the
home of several cottagers in Summer.
"Look! What's that!" cried Tom, as they neared the upper point of the
bit of water-surrounded land.
"Looks like a boat wrecked there!" said Phil.
"It is," declared Sid. "It's smashed on the rocks."
"Let's take a look," suggested Frank. "Maybe it's worth saving."
"It's a motor-boat," said Tom, as they came nearer. "But I guess there
isn't much left of it."
"And there's part of the boathouse it was evidently in," came from Phil.
"Probably it was carried away by the flood--boat, boathouse and all, and
smashed on these rocks."
By this time they had brought their boat to the island shore, and,
getting out, they examined the wreck. Truly it had been a bad smash. The
hull itself could never be used again, and it was a question whether
the engine could, as one of the cylinders was badly cracked. The seat
lockers had been broken open, and nothing seemed to remain in them.
"Say, this is the same boat that fellow locked in the boathouse, the
time we were out rowing when we met the Boxer Hall shell!" cried Tom, as
he saw the name on the bow.
"That's right!" agreed Frank. "The very same. Wallops said some
boathouses had been carried away. This must have been one of them."
"I wonder who owns this boat?" ventured Sid, but no one answered him.
They looked at the wreck for some little time longer, and then started
back up the river. They had not gone far from the island before they met
a man rowing down in a small boat. He had an anxious look on his face as
he hailed them.
"I say, boys," he called, "have you seen anything of a wrecked
motor-boat about here?"
"There's one down on the point of that island," said Tom. "The _Sylph_."
"That's mine!" exclaimed the man. "Is there anything left of her?"
"Not much," replied Frank. "Wait, we'll show you where she is. We were
just looking at her."
"You were?" exclaimed the man, and there was something in the sharp
way he said it, and in his tone, that caused the boys to glance at him
curiously.
"Yes, saw it by accident," went on Phil.
"Did you--er--find--that is--Oh, never mind, I can soon tell when I look
at her," the man said, rather confusedly, as he rowed on. The four lads
turned their craft and accompanied him.
"There she is!" cried Frank, pointing out the wrecked craft amid some
rocks and bushes. "You can see for yourself there's not much left of
her."
Without a word the man sprang ashore from his boat, while the college
lads kept their craft off the rocks. Rapidly rummaging through the
broken-open lockers, the man, muttering to himself, suddenly stood up.
As he did so, Tom said in a low voice:
"That's the same chap who locked the boat up. I wonder what is missing?"
"Did you--excuse me for asking--but did you boys take anything from my
boat?" asked the man, in rather hard tones.
[Illustration: "DID YOU BOYS TAKE ANYTHING FROM MY BOAT?" ASKED THE MAN.]
"Take anything? What do you mean?" demanded Sid, sharply.
"Something is missing from one of the lockers."
"We certainly took nothing from your boat," said Tom, stiffly. "What is
missing?"
"Many things," was the answer. "Among others, a number of trophy cups
belonging to Boxer Hall College. I had them to repair, polish and
engrave, and now they are gone from my boat. Someone must have taken
them!" and he looked at the boys. The four chums felt their anger
rising.
CHAPTER IV
IMPLIED ACCUSATION
Frank Simpson was the first to take definite action. He looked sharply
at the man, as the latter gave the surprising information about
trophies, and then, in a low voice, said to his companions in the barge:
"Let's go ashore, fellows."
"What for; to be insulted again?" asked Tom. "I'm not going to stand for
that fellow's insinuations. Who is he, anyhow?"
"I don't know," answered Frank, "and for the very same reason that I,
neither, do not intend to stand for any imputation, I want to go ashore.
Give way!"
They urged their heavy craft shoreward.
"They are certainly gone," went on the man, as he continued to rummage
about in the wreckage of his boat. "And it means a big loss to me. If
you boys were here----"
"Say, just hold on a minute, my friend," interrupted Frank, in that cool
way of his. "Just go a bit slow about making cracks. It might not be
altogether healthy!" and the eyes of the Big Californian glowed.
"But I tell you it's a big loss!" went on the man. "I must find the
things--money won't pay for them!"
"Now suppose we go at this thing systematically," suggested Frank, his
chums, by common consent, letting him assume the leadership. "We don't
any of us know you, except that we all recall seeing you land on the
main shore in your motor-boat a day or so ago. It was this same boat, I
take it."
"The same," answered the man. "And now----"
"Wait," suggested Frank, holding up his hand. "As for us, we're
Randall College students, as you can easily verify. We'll give you our
names--fellows, cards," and Frank handed over one of his own, the others
doing the same.
"That's all right," spoke the man, in half-sullen tones; "but that isn't
going to bring back my stuff."
"Do you think we took it?" snapped Frank, and there was a warning glint
in his eyes.
"No--not exactly--but you lads were at my boat, you say, and this is
the first time I've seen it since I left it with those cups and other
valuables in."
"Well, that's a long way from proving that we took anything," went on
Frank. "It's laughable, or, it would be if it wasn't so serious."
"Who are you, anyhow?" burst out Tom Parsons, unable to restrain his
curiosity longer. "This thing is getting too deep for me. How did you
come to have the Boxer Hall trophy cups?"
"Perhaps I had better explain," went on the man. "I am Edward Farson,
and I'm in the jewelry business in Haddonfield. I've only recently
started up, and I'm working a new line of trade. I am an expert repairer
and mender of old jewelry, and I find that many residents along the
river here, as well as out in the country, have old jewelry they want
made into modern forms.
"As I happened to own a motor-boat I decided to use that in making calls
along the river, and I have been quite successful. Then learning that
the colleges hereabouts had many cups and trophies that grew tarnished,
or were broken, I solicited orders in that line. I also do engraving,
putting the names of the winners and all that on the cups.
"The other day--the time I remember now when I saw you at Mr. Borden's
dock--I had collected quite a few pieces of jewelry, some from
customers, some from the students at Fairview Institute, and a number of
trophy cups from Boxer Hall.
"I had a call to make at Mr. Borden's, and, leaving the jewelry and
cups in a box in one of the lockers of the boat, I ran my craft in the
boathouse, as you saw, locked it up, and went up the hill to call on
Mrs. Borden. As the box of valuables was rather heavy I did not want to
carry it with me. I thought it would be safe."
"We heard you remark as much," interpolated Sid.
"Yes? Well, I expected to be back right away, but when I got to the
house I found unexpected news awaiting me. There had come a telephone
message from the clerk in my store, who knew that I was to be at Mrs.
Borden's at a certain time. I had told him to that effect, as my elderly
mother is very ill, and I wanted to be kept informed of her condition.
The doctor communicated by wire with my clerk, and the latter left with
Mrs. Borden a message to the effect that my mother was sinking, and that
I was to hasten if I wanted to see her alive.
"That, as you may suppose, drove from my mind all thoughts of the
valuables left in my boat. Or, if I did think of them at all, it must
have been to hope that they would be safe, locked in the boathouse as
they were, and with no one but myself--as I supposed--knowing of them.
"Mrs. Borden, whom I have known for some time, as soon as she had given
me the message about my mother, offered me the use of a horse and
carriage to get to my mother's house, which is quite a way back from the
river, off in the country.
"I accepted and drove away, never even mentioning to Mrs. Borden about
the jewelry in the locker of my boat. I said I would, on my return,
collect the things she wanted repaired. Then I hastened to my mother.
"I found the dear old lady quite ill, and for a time her life was
despaired of. But she rallied, and when my sister came to take charge of
matters, I decided to come back to my business. But, in the meanwhile,
as you know, there was the flood.
"When I went back to the Bordens, it was to find that their boathouse
had been washed away by the high water, carrying my craft with it
down to the lake. I was nearly crazy, not only at my own loss, but
over the missing valuables, which I knew I could never replace. I
borrowed a small boat to-day, and set off in search of my launch. I
looked in several places where it might have lodged, and when I saw
you boys--well, you know the rest," and the jeweler concluded with a
pathetic air, as though his troubles was too much for him.
"It's rather a queer story," commented Frank. "As for our part in it, it
is just as we told you. We landed here by accident, and saw the wreck
of the boat. We assumed what had happened, but we saw nothing of any box
of cups and jewelry. Then we rowed away and met you."
"I'm much obliged to you for the information," said Mr. Farson, "and
I--of course--I'm bound to believe you," he went on, a bit awkwardly.
"Then you didn't see a trace of them?"
"Of course not!" cried Phil. "Don't you believe us?"
"Oh, yes--yes, of course. I only thought that maybe, as my boat is so
broken up, and the parts scattered about, that you might have looked
farther along the shores of the island. The box may have held together,
and be lodged somewhere."
"Perhaps it has," said Frank, calmly. "I'd advise you to look
thoroughly. You might find it. Come on, fellows," and he led the way
back to the boat.
Tom Parsons acted as though he intended to speak, but Sid nudged him in
the ribs, and the youth kept quiet.
Mr. Farson stared after the boys as though much disappointed at their
desertion, and then, looking to the fastening of the rowing craft in
which he had come ashore, he began walking along the edge of the island,
where many signs of the high water still remained.
"What did you want to come away for in such a hurry?" asked Tom,
in a low voice, when they were some distance out. "You were on your
high-horse for fair, Frank."
"And why shouldn't I be? Do you think I was going to stay there, and
help him hunt, after he practically insulted us the way he did? As if we
knew anything about his musty old jewelry!"
"That's right!" broke in Phil. "I wouldn't lift my hand to help him,
after he made that implied accusation. We didn't see any of his stuff!"
"Oh, so that's the reason," replied Tom. "Well, I guess it was a good
one, Frank."
"Those Boxer Hall lads will be up in the air all right when they learn
that their trophies are gone," suggested Sid. "I wonder if there were
any of the ones they won in the last meet?"
"They didn't get many," chuckled Frank. "But it will be quite a loss
to them. However, it's none of our funeral. I wouldn't trust any of my
jewelry to a man who would go off and leave it in a motor-boat for a
night and a day."
"Oh, well, he didn't mean to. When he got that message about his mother,
I suppose it flustered him," said Tom, in extenuation.
"It's hard to blame him," commented Frank. "But he's in a pickle all
right. Now let's do some fast rowing."
They hit up the pace, but they did not have enough practice to maintain
it, especially in the heavy barge, and soon they were all panting,
while the oars took the water raggedly, and Sid caught a crab that
nearly sent him overboard.
"I guess we need some coaching," admitted that lad, when he had
recovered himself. "We're not racers yet, by a long shot. Slow down a
bit, fellows."
"Oh, we're too soft!" complained Frank. "We'll never amount to anything
in a shell if we can't stand this. Think of a four-mile row at top
speed."
"But we'll be in better shape for it after a course of training and some
coaching," declared Phil. "Then, too, we'll have this Summer vacation to
practice in."
At slower speed they rowed up to their boathouse dock, and were soon
strolling across the campus to their room, discussing the events of the
last few hours.
"I can't get over the nerve of that jeweler!" exclaimed the Big
Californian. "He nearly got me going."
"I could see that," commented Tom. "It was a good thing we came away
when we did."
"Oh, well, he wasn't exactly responsible for what he said. Be a bit
charitable," advised Sid.
"Well, how's the racing game progressing?" asked Holly Cross, as he met
our friends. "When is that second-hand shell coming so we can practice?"
"That's up to Dan Woodhouse," explained Tom. "Kindlings is chairman of
that committee. Let's look him up."
"I wonder if Boxer Hall will row us in the Fall?" asked Bricktop Molloy,
strolling up. "It will make a double season for them."
"I don't believe they'll dare refuse when we've beaten them at almost
everything else," spoke Frank. "But we'll soon know about that. Dutch
Housenlager said he had written to their crew captain and coach, and
expected an answer soon."
"They ought to be glad to row us," commented Tom. "It will give them a
chance to get more cups to replace those they lost."
"How lost?" asked Holly Cross. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, it's a great story!" cried Sid, and he proceeded to relate, aided
by his chums, the incident of the smashed motor-boat.
"Too bad," commented Bricktop. "I know how we'd feel if such a thing
happened here. But that fellow may find his stuff. Here comes Pete
Backus. Hi, Grasshopper!" he called, to a long lad who imagined he was a
champion jumper, "are you going to try for the crew?"
"I sure am," was the confident answer. "I used to row a lot when a kid,
and I guess I haven't forgotten."
"He's too light by fifteen pounds," declared Frank, in a low voice.
"About one hundred and sixty is a good average."
"Thank goodness we're all of us that," said Tom, looking at the chums
gathered about him.
"Are there going to be single races?" asked a lad, stepping up to join
the group. He was a well dressed chap, reputed to be wealthy in his own
right. His name was Reginald Boswell.
"Why, yes, Reggie," said Tom, in the drawling tones affected by the
other, "we count on having single shells. Are you going to compete?"
"Aw, say, I wish you wouldn't call me Reggie. I hate that name!"
exclaimed the lad, who was completing his Freshman year. "Cawn't you
call me just--er--Boswell?"
"How would Bossy do for short, me lad?" asked Bricktop. "Not that you're
a calf, you know; but Bossy has a sweet sound, thinkest thou not so, my
comrades?" and he appealed to his chums with accompanying winks.
"Aw, I say now, quit spoofing me, cawn't you?" appealed the rich
lad. "Bossy is too rotten silly, you know," and he drew a scented
handkerchief from the pocket of his rather loud, and swagger clothes,
which, as he always took the trouble to inform all who appeared
interested, were made in "Lunnon." Mr. Reginald Boswell had traveled
abroad, it seemed.
"You ought to be thankful for any nickname, Bossy," put in Holly Cross.
"It isn't every Freshman who is thus honored. It's going to be Bossy or
nothing."
"Oh, but I say, Reggie isn't as bad as that!"
"Bossy or nothing!" insisted Bricktop.
"Well, then, tell me about the single shells," went on the rich student,
evidently deciding to accept the less of two evils. "I'd like to row in
those contests."
"Well, I guess you can--if you can make good," said Frank. "Come on,
fellows," and he linked his arms in those of Sid and Tom, and walked
them off toward their dormitory, followed by others of the chums,
leaving Bossy, as he was generally called after that christening, to
contemplate them with mingled feelings.
"Silly rotters!" he murmured after the manner of some of his English
acquaintances. "I'll show them I can row, though!"
The news of the loss of the Boxer Hall cups was soon known all over
Randall, and, in the next day or so, it was generally talked of, for
there was a reward offered by the distracted jeweler, an article
appearing in the local paper about it.
"I guess he didn't find any trace of them on the island," commented Sid.
"The box is probably at the bottom of the lake," was Tom's opinion.
It was several days after this that the four chums were in Haddonfield,
partaking of a little supper after a vaudeville entertainment. There
strolled into the restaurant some lads from Boxer Hall, among them one
or two members of the eight-oared crew.
"Hello, Dave!" greeted Tom and the others.
"Too bad about your trophies; wasn't it," added Phil.
"Rotten!" conceded Dave. "Some of them were old timers, too."
"I--er--I understand that you lads were the _first_ to discover the
loss," put in Harry Cedstrom, one of the new students at Boxer Hall, and
a member of the crew. There was a strange emphasis on the word "first."
"The _first_ to discover it--what do you mean?" asked Frank Simpson,
bristling up.
"I mean that you were first at the wrecked boat that had held the box of
jewelry," went on Harry, while some of his companions nudged him to keep
him quiet.
"We happened to be there," admitted Frank, in a quiet voice that, to his
friends, always presaged an outburst of righteous indignation. "We saw
the wrecked boat, and called the attention of the owner to it. We went
back with him, and then he told us his loss. That's how we happened to
be the first, after Mr. Farson himself."
"Oh, I see," spoke Harry. "Then you were at the boat _before_ he was?"
"Cut it out; can't you?" demanded Dave of his friend, in a hoarse
whisper.
"Yes," said Frank quietly, "we were there before Mr. Farson," and he
looked the other student straight in the eyes.
"And you didn't see anything of our cups?"
"Just what do you mean?" demanded Frank quietly, half rising in his
chair, while Tom laid a hand on him in restraint.
"Oh," went on Harry easily, "I thought maybe you fellows might have
taken our trophies----"
"Hold on!" cried Frank, and he arose with such suddenness that his chair
overturned. Tom arose also, and clung to the arm of the Big Californian,
whispering rapidly:
"Quiet, Frank. Keep quiet! Don't have a row here!"
"In a joke!" finished Harry Cedstrom with an attempt at a smile. There
was a dead silence in the groups of students.
CHAPTER V
THE CLUE
Frank Simpson stared at the Boxer Hall lad for a moment, and then sank
back in the chair which Sid Henderson had replaced for him. Harry seemed
to breathe easier, and certainly there were looks of relief on the faces
of his companions.
"A joke?" repeated Frank, grimly. "Well, if that is your idea of a joke,
all I have to say is that your early education was sadly neglected.
Fellows, I guess it's my treat. Some more of those seltzer lemonades,
waiter," and turning his back, with studied indifference, on the Boxer
Hall lads, Frank began to chat with his friends.
There was an uneasy movement among the students from Boxer Hall.
"I tell you he insulted me!" Harry could be heard to fiercely whisper,
as he made an effort to rise.
"Now you sit right still!" said Dave Ogden, firmly. "If there was any
insulting done, it was on your part first. I tell you to drop it.
Randall is our rival, in more ways than one, but no one ever yet accused
her of unfair tactics--least of all any of those fellows. You cut it
out, Cedstrom, or you won't know what happened to you!"
"That's right," chimed in Pinky Davenport, another Boxer lad. "That was
a raw thing for you to say, Cedstrom, and it might make trouble for us."
"I don't care!" exclaimed the other, defiantly. "I wanted to take those
fellows down a peg. The idea of them thinking they can row us!"
"Well, we'll give them all the chance in the world," declared Dave,
good-naturedly; "but I think they'll never see the bow of our shell
in an eight-oared race. It takes more than one season to turn out
champions."
"That's right," agreed Pinky. "But you go a bit slow, Cedstrom. Those
fellows are good friends of ours, even if they are rivals."
"All right--no harm intended," said the other, seeing that he had gone
too far.
Aside from uneasy glances from time to time toward their rivals, our
friends showed no further interest in the unpleasant incident. It had
not come to the notice of others in the restaurant, for the students
were in a room that, by custom, was set aside for their exclusive use.
"You got his number all right, Frank," commented Phil.
"That's what," chimed in Sid.
"Well, I wasn't going to stand for any crack like that," declared
Frank. "Especially from a Freshman. He may have meant it, and he may
not, but the time to put the screws on is in the beginning."
The two parties broke up soon after that, most of the Boxer Hall boys
nodding friendly good-nights to their rivals as they passed out.
"What's the matter, Frank?" asked Tom, a little later, as they gathered
in their common study, and the tall pitcher "flopped" down beside his
chum on the old sofa. At once there was a cracking, splintering sound,
and Sid cried out in alarm.
"Cheese it, you fellows! Do you want to spoil that completely? Remember
it's an invalid."
"I should say so!" cried Tom, getting off as carefully as a skater goes
over thin ice, while Frank held his breath. "I didn't mean to come down
so hard."
"Oh, student spare that couch,
Touch not a single spring.
In sleep it resteth me,
As nice as anything!"
Thus Phil misquoted, adapting it to suit his needs.
"Punk!" commented Tom.
"Fierce!" cried Sid. "That's an old one."
"Say, you fellows don't know good poetry when it comes up and shakes
hands with you," declared Phil, in disgusted tones. "I'm going to frame
that."
"We'll have to have a new frame for the couch if Tom does any more of
his gymnastic stunts," declared Frank, as he looked to see what damage
had been done. "The back's nearly broken again," he added.
"Kindly forgive me," spoke the pitcher, in contrite tones. "But those
two hulks have the armchairs, and I wanted some place to rest. I guess
we'll have to invest in another chair, if that couch is only going to
hold one."
"We will not, you vandal!" exclaimed Phil. "Sit on the alarm clock, if
you want to, or flop down on the floor, or to go to bed; but you don't
go getting any new, modern, ugly, incongruous furniture into this den."
"Oh, I didn't mean that," Tom hastened to explain. "I meant pick up a
second-hand one somewhere."
"That mightn't be so bad," admitted Frank.
"But say, what ails you, anyhow?" went on Tom, turning to the Big
Californian, as though to change the subject. "I was asking you that
when they raised this row about the old couch."
"Don't you call that an 'old couch' unless in terms of the deepest
respect!" cried Phil.
"I meant it strictly in the Pickwickian sense," Tom hastened to explain.
"But, Frank, is there anything up?"
"Well, yes, there is," admitted the other.
His chums looked at him curiously.
"I hope you didn't take that Boxer Hall puppy's remarks seriously," went
on Tom.
"Not seriously, no; and yet what he said has set me to thinking."
"Hurray! Frank's thinking at last!" cried Sid. "Send word to Pitchfork,
and he'll give you a double stunt in Latin."
"No, but seriously," went on the Big Californian, "you heard what he
said. In a joking way, as I really think he meant it, he suggested that
we might know something of the missing cups and jewelry, seeing that we
were first on the scene--or, at least, as far as is known. Now if he
thought that--even in a joke--and the jeweler thought it seriously--as
I am convinced he did--though he soon passed it up--why shouldn't other
people?"
"Do you think they do?" asked Sid.
"They might, and what I've been thinking is that we can't afford to have
even the slightest suspicion hanging over us."
"But does there?" demanded Tom.
"I don't know--there's a possibility that there might. You see, fellows,
we _could_ have taken those things!"
"We could!" cried Phil.
"Certainly. Just figure it out for a moment," went on Frank. "We might
as well look at this thing fairly and squarely. Say that box of jewelry
was in the wrecked boat when we found it on the point of Crest Island.
Say we found it to contain the Boxer Hall trophies. We could have taken
them even for a joke; couldn't we?"
"Yes, but we didn't," declared Phil.
"No, but that won't stop people from thinking so. They may set it down
as a college prank, but, even so, they'll think it just the same."
"Well?" asked Sid, as Frank paused.
"Well, that's what I was thinking of when Tom plumped down, and broke
the sofa."
"I didn't break it."
"You came mighty near it," went on Frank. "I was turning that over in my
mind after what happened in the restaurant, and I've got something to
propose."
"What is it?" demanded Phil, leaning forward so interestedly and
suddenly that the old armchair creaked and groaned dismally, and a cloud
of dust arose from its ancient upholstery.
"I think we ought to go back to Crest Island, and make a search. We may
find that box of cups and jewelry caught in some cleft of the rocks, or
we may find----"
Again Frank paused.
"What?" asked Tom.
"A clue to who did take it--if it was taken."
There was a moment of silence, and then Sid exclaimed:
"Frank's dead right! We'll go to Crest Island to-morrow and hunt for
clues."
Eagerly the matter was discussed, and in the end all four agreed that
they would make the search. Then came an hour of studying, and the
lights went out.
"Oh, for the love of baked beans!" exclaimed Tom, as they were all
settled comfortable in bed. "Somebody stop that clock, will you? I'll
furnish the toothpick."
"Get up and do it yourself," directed Frank. "I'm too comfortable."
"So am I," said Sid.
"Same here," came from Phil.
"Then I suppose I've got to," groaned Tom, and in the end he did. Then,
with the fussy, little alarmer quiet, the chums dropped off, their
thoughts lasting longest on the prospective races, and on the queer
muddle of the lost trophies.
"Well, here's where the boat was," said Tom, as they landed on Crest
Island the next afternoon.
"But it's gone now," added Phil.
"Yes, probably Mr. Farson had it towed away on a barge to see if he
could save any of it. My opinion is that it wasn't worth it," said Sid.
"Well, let's scatter, two going down one shore of the island, and two on
the other," suggested Frank. "When the boat struck on the rocks, and
split, the things in the lockers may have floated one way or the other."
"If they didn't sink," put in Tom. "A box of jewelry would be pretty
heavy."
"If it sank, so much the better," declared the Big Californian. "Then it
would lodge, and when the waters went down, as they did after the flood,
it would still stay there. Scatter and hunt."
They took his advice, and for an hour or more searched. Then Tom, who
was with Frank, on the eastern shore, sprang toward a clump of bushes in
which was caught some driftwood.
"I've found something!" he cried. "It looks like the seat lockers of a
motor-boat."
"It is," declared his chum, as he hurried to Tom's side.
There, in the debris that had settled around the roots of the bush when
the waters had subsided, was part of a boat locker. It was split and
broken, but the cover was still on it. Eagerly Tom lifted it and, as he
did so he uttered a cry of delight.
"Here it is!" he shouted. "The jeweler's box! It has his name on it!"
"Open it!" exclaimed Frank, as Sid and Phil came hurrying to join their
two chums.
Tom lifted the cover.
"Empty!" he cried, blankly.
CHAPTER VI
THE PRACTICE SHELL
The four chums stared, almost uncomprehendingly, into the open box.
It was of good size, capable of holding several trophy cups, with
compartments, velvet lined, for smaller pieces of jewelry.
"The things all fell out!" cried Tom. "They must be scattered around
here somewhere. Let's look," and he started off.
"No use," said Frank, quietly.
"Why not?" asked Tom, in wonder.
"Because those things never fell out of that box," went on the Big
Californian.
"Why didn't they?" demanded Phil. "When the box was knocked around in
the water, or even inside the locker, why wouldn't it be split open and
the things fall out?"
"It wasn't split, as you can easily see," went on Frank, calmly, "and
the cover wasn't forced open by banging against the rocks. It was
opened by some slender instrument being shoved under the catch, and
then pried upon. See, there are the marks. No rocks ever made those,"
and he showed several scratches in the shiny surface of the box, near
the clasp. The scratches went entirely under the broad brass fastener,
showing that something thin enough to have been employed in this way was
used. As Frank had said, no rock against which the case might have been
tossed by the storm-waters, could have done it.
"Well, let's take it to Mr. Farson," went on Sid. "We'll tell him how we
found it, and he can then see that we had nothing to do with taking the
things--even in a joke. Let's hurry back to town."
"Let's do nothing of the sort!" exclaimed Frank quickly.
"Why not?" demanded his chums in chorus.
"If you want tongues to wag any more--if you want a real suspicion to be
cast on us, where there's only the faintest one now--if you want to make
real trouble, take that box to Mr. Farson. If you don't, and if you want
to get at the real facts in this case, just keep quiet about it."
For a moment there was silence, and then Tom objected:
"Well, maybe it's clear to you, Frank, but I can't see it that way."
"Me either," declared Phil.
"Why, it's as simple as anything," declared the Big Californian.
"Well, maybe it is," admitted Sid, "but kindly translate. It's too deep
for us."
"Look here," went on Frank. "That jeweler saw us at the wreck; didn't
he?"
"No question about that," admitted Tom.
"And we helped him look around. We were here first; and we said we
didn't see anything of the stuff."
"No question about that," admitted Sid, following Tom's lead.
"And now here we go and find the empty box--it has every appearance of
having been forced open by human hands. We take it to Mr. Farson, and
say--'Here's your box, Mr. Jeweler; but it's empty--that's just how we
found it, honest it is!' Say, wouldn't he smell a rat right away, and
think we had the stuff?"
"No question about that," declared Phil. "That ends it! Frank is right,
we'll have to keep mum about this for our own sakes, though I don't like
it. It makes us look guilty."
"Not a bit of it," declared Frank, stoutly. "It gives us a chance to
find out who the guilty party is."
"Who do you suppose it is?" asked Tom.
"I haven't the least idea," answered the California lad, quickly.
"Someone may have been on the island before we were, and found, and
rifled, the box; or that person may have come after we did. That's one
thing we've got to find out--and it isn't going to be any cinch, take it
from me!"
They all examined the box, and then looked about the place where it had
been found, for other clues. But they found none--no other parts of the
wrecked boat seemed to be there.
As they were coming away, to get to their boat and row to Randall, Tom
stooped and picked from the ground a bit of gaudily-colored silk, a
plaid of many colors, in a sort of ribbon.
"What's that?" asked Sid.
"Looks like part of a Scotch necktie," replied the tall pitcher.
"Let's have a look," suggested Frank, as he closely examined the piece
of silk. "That's no part of a necktie!" he exclaimed. "It's a piece
of a Mexican silk handkerchief of all the colors of the rainbow. I've
seen 'em on sale out in my state. The Mexicans and some other folks are
fond of sporting them, but they were always too rich for my blood. But,
fellows, do you notice one thing about this?" and he held it up for
inspection.
"Do you mean it might have been worn by the jeweler, and dropped in his
motor-boat?" asked Tom.
"It _might_ have been worn by the jeweler, but not very likely," said
Frank. "In the first place, notice that it shows no signs of having
been wet, except by the dew. It was never in the flood, or it would
have mud on it. And I don't believe it was worn by the jeweler, and
dropped here; otherwise, having good eyesight, as all jewelers and watch
repairers have, he would have seen his box."
"Then you think----," began Sid.
"That it was dropped here by someone who was on this island either
before, or after, we were here the first time; by someone who found the
box, opened it, and took the stuff away," finished Frank.
"And who that person was it's up to us to find out," declared Tom.
"Exactly. And here's another thing," went on Frank, "this piece of silk
is torn off in a long strip, cleanly, and it looks to me as if it might
have been one of several so torn, or ripped, to make a bundle of the
cups and jewelry. If we can find a handkerchief like this, with a strip
torn off, we'll come pretty close to the person who has the Boxer Hall
cups," finished the Big Californian.
"Maybe the fellow tore off a couple of strips, used the main part of
his handkerchief in which to wrap his stuff, and left one strip here by
mistake," suggested Phil.
"Maybe," admitted Frank. "Well, we've got about all we can find here, I
guess. I vote we get back, and talk this matter over among ourselves.
And, mind, not a word to a soul!"
All promised and then, carefully concealing in their boat the jewelry
box, with the piece of silk inside, they rowed back to college.
But the discussion they brought to bear on the matter in their room
later, failed to throw any light on the subject. All the conclusion they
could come to was that if they found the owner of the gaudy handkerchief
they might find the possessor of the jewelry.
In the days that followed rowing matters occupied much of the attention
and the talk of the Randall students. The chairmen of the various
committees called meetings, and made reports of progress to the general
athletic body. The offer of the alumni to provide a fine boathouse, and
a rowing equipment, was formally accepted, and the required promise made.
There was no lack of material for an eight-oared shell--two in
fact--several fours, a couple of doubles, and one or two singles. In
response to a request for a list of what was needed, it was decided to
ask for one first-class eight-oared shell, for two fours, two doubles,
and three singles, though the gift committee, naturally, would do as
they thought best. This would give plenty of craft in which to practice.
In view of the expense of the eight-oared shell it was decided that the
students themselves would subscribe enough to purchase a second-hand
eight for practice.
They learned of one in good condition, that could be had at a bargain,
also a single and a four, and, as it would take some time for the
generous old graduates to provide their equipment, it was voted to buy
the second-hand ones for use the remainder of that Spring.
"That will give us a little time for practice," decided Kindlings, who
had the matter in charge. He had been elected temporary captain of a
tentative eight crew; a temporary arrangement, as it would not be known,
until the coach had selected the crew, who would row in the different
craft. There would be try-outs as soon as possible.
The old boathouse would have to answer until the new one was built,
but, to accommodate the many students who now thronged it, a temporary
addition was built, the coming warm weather making it unnecessary to
have it very substantial.
The interest in rowing increased every day. Our four chums and their
friends were perhaps the foremost in showing their delight in the coming
events.
Boxer Hall had been communicated with, as had Fairview Institute, and
both had agreed to enter into triangular-league contests that Fall, the
details to be arranged later.
The second-hand shells had been ordered, and Mr. Lighton agreed to do
the water coaching, in addition to looking after the baseball lads, for
the affairs of the diamond were beginning to hold the attention of many.
Of course our friends did not lose interest in baseball because of the
coming water sports.
Meanwhile no further trace of the missing cups or jewelry had been
found. No one claimed the reward offered by Mr. Farson, to which the
Boxer Hall Athletic Association added a substantial sum for the recovery
of their trophies. Our friends said nothing of their find, and, though
there was hardly a breath of suspicion against them, even in Boxer Hall,
still they fretted.
"We've just got to find out who took those things!" cried Tom, one
afternoon, coming back from a row on the river.
"That's right!" agreed his chums.
A number of the ordinary rowing boats had been secured, and Mr. Lighton
spent some time giving the lads an idea of the rudiments of getting down
to the right stroke. Of course with toe stretchers, and sliding seats,
there would come a vast change, so he did not want to go too deeply into
the matter until the right craft were at hand.
"Well, what shall we do this afternoon?" asked Sid, as he yawningly
tossed aside a book that he had dipped into on coming to his room after
a lecture.
"I'm for a row!" exclaimed Tom.
"We ought to do some baseball practice," suggested Phil. "We've sort of
been letting that slide."
"Let's do a little of----" began Frank, when the door flew open, and in
came Kindlings, all excited.
"It's come!" he cried.
"What?" chorused the others.
"The new shell--I mean the second-hand eight--the boat we're going to
do our practice in! I just got word from the freight office that it's
there. Let's get a truck, and have it carted to the river. I'm crazy to
get in and go for a row!"
"Hurray! That's the stuff!" cried Tom. "Come on, everybody!" and he led
the way, the others following.
CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST TRIAL
"Well, now we have it, what shall we do with it?"
"Say, but it's a frail thing all right!"
"Looks as if one good stroke would split it in two."
"And that will hold eight men!"
"Nine, counting the coxswain, you gump! Didn't you ever see an
eight-oared shell before?"
"Not so close at hand! Say, but it's flimsy all right."
"Oh, I guess we'll find it stiff enough for us."
These were only a few of the comments, and questions, propounded by the
students of Randall as they gathered about the new shell--or, rather,
the second-hand one--that had been purchased in order to give them
practice while the new outfit was being made.
Following the enthusiastic announcement of Kindlings, as detailed in
the last chapter, the more eager of the rowing contingent, including
our four heroes, had gone to the freight depot, and, procuring a truck
had, with great care and patience, transported the boat, well swathed in
burlap, to the river. Later, under the direction of Coach Lighton, they
had attached the outriggers, gotten out the oars, given the boat another
coat of varnish, oiled it well, and now it rested in the water alongside
the dock, as lightly as a swan, if not as gracefully.
"It looks more like a water-spider than anything else," commented Jerry
Jackson, one of the Jersey twins.
"Here! Can that!" cried Tom. "No finding fault with our boat, or we'll
duck you."
"That's what!" declared Dutch Housenlager. "Let's get in and take a
try!" he proposed, starting toward the frail craft, and preparing to
step in it.
"Here! Hold on!" cried Mr. Lighton, in accents of alarm. "That's no way
to get into a shell. Now you fellows just hold your breaths until I give
you a few points."
The lads--a score or more--all of whom hoped to make the eight, while
others felt that they would be satisfied in the fours, or singles,
had gathered around. They had all helped to get the shell into shape,
pending the arrival of some more of the second-hand craft. Now they were
eager to try their skill.
"It is too early to pick out the crew yet," said Mr. Lighton, "as I
don't know what any of you can do. So I suggest that you all have a
try, and those that develop the most aptitude will come in for more
consideration. Have you thought of anyone for permanent captain? Wait,
though, I guess you'd better let that go until you see how you make out
in rowing. And, as for the coxswain--who wants to be coxswain?" he asked.
"Don't all speak at once," he added whimsically. "Remember that, while
it's a post of honor, the coxswain doesn't row, though by steering he
assumes almost as much responsibility as all the rest put together, for
a well-steered boat often means a winning one. We want a light weight
for coxswain," and he looked over the assembled group.
No one volunteered and the coach went on:
"Well, at the risk of seeming egotistical, I'll assume that post myself,
for the time being, though I'm a bit heavy. I think I can coach you
better from that position--at least at the start. Now then, I guess
we're ready. Whom shall we try first?"
Once more he looked around.
"Holly Cross," he called, and that lad stepped forward, then:
"Kindlings, Phil Clinton, Tom Parsons, Frank, Sid," went on the coach.
A pause.
"Yes, come ahead, Housenlager," said the coach, as Dutch made an eager
move. "Let's see, that's seven. Where's Bricktop. Not here. Joe Jackson."
"I'm afraid I'm a bit light," said the Jersey twin.
"Well, perhaps you are. You may fill in later, though, as coxswain, or
row in one of the other boats. I guess----"
"I'd like to row!" exclaimed someone.
Reginald Boswell stepped forward, a smile of confidence on his face.
"I've done considerable of it," he added, with an air of assurance.
To do him justice he was a well-built lad, and those who had seen him
out on the river knew he could pull a good oar. Whether he had racing
qualities in him remained to be seen.
"Very well," said the coach, quietly. "We'll give you a trial. That
makes the eight. Now then, who'll be for stroke? Simpson, I think
I'll try you. You look as though you could set the pace. For number
seven--um! Parsons, you try that, though we may change later. Remember
that number seven, who sits directly behind stroke, has almost as
important a position, for he has to pick up the stroke promptly, and the
rest of the crew is dependent, in a great measure, on what number seven
does.
"Now, let me see. Boswell, you'll be bow oar. Phil Clinton number two,
Sid Henderson at three, Housenlager at four, Woodhouse number five, and
Cross at six. Now I guess we're all ready. Steady the boat there, some
of you, while the crew gets in."
Dutch Housenlager once more eagerly started for the boat, and extended
his foot to step down into it at his designated seat.
"Wait! Wait!" cried the coach. "Don't get into a shell that way.
Remember that it's almost as thin as its name indicates. Put your foot
lengthwise of the keelson, not athwart, or you may force your heel or
toe through the sides. Have all of you your rubber-soled shoes on?"
"Sure," replied Dutch, a bit abashed. A glance showed that all were in
sufficiently regular rowing costume.
"Now, while we're at it, I might as well tell you how properly to get in
a shell," went on the coach. "You may all listen, as you can't tell whom
it may fit.
"In the first place take your oar, and, if you're to row on the side of
the shell that happens to be nearest the float at the time, lay your
blade on the platform. If you're on the water side, lay the blade flat
on the surface of the water.
"Now get in, facing the stern, being careful to step lengthways, as I
told Housenlager. Stoop down, with a hand on either gunwale, and lower
yourself into your seat. You will of course notice the seats slide back
and forth, that you have outriggers instead of gunwale oarlocks, and
that there are stretchers, or loops under which to thrust your toes.
"Once in your seat, ship your oar by thrusting the handle in through
the outrigger oarlock from outside. Sit straight, not to one side, and
squarely face the handle of your oar, have your shoulders a bit back,
and your elbows close to your flanks. I'll give you more points as we go
along.
"Hold your oar with the outside hand close to the end of the handle,
but not over the edge of it. You get more power from your outside hand,
remember. The 'outside' hand, strange as it may seem, is the one nearest
the centre of the boat, and the inside one, that nearest the 'loom,'
spoon, body or blade of the oar. Put the other hand not more than two
and a half inches from the outside hand. Thumbs underneath, or toward
the bottom of the boat, of course; though some men row with the thumb of
one hand in the same position as the fingers.
"And now then, to give you brief instructions in how to row. First
give a full, fair reach out over your toes, with both arms perfectly
straight, dip your oar in the water--plunge it in with force. Get a good
hold on the water with the blade, and the instant it is immersed, pull
with all your might, and then follow through, as we say, with a long,
firm stroke without vibration or wavering.
"Then, with a light finish, get your oar blade clear of the water
cleanly, feather light, low and quick--into the water again all together
with a 'chug'--another pull and--there you are--you're rowing!"
There was silence for a moment, and then Tom remarked:
"Sounds easy; doesn't it?"
"Yes, and some of you will find it easy," remarked Mr. Lighton, with a
smile. "Others will not. But we can tell soon who the rowers are going
to be, though that is not saying that, with practice, some of those who
seem the least fitted may not become very proficient."
"I once belonged to a swell New York club," remarked Reginald Boswell.
"Why did they put you out, Bossy?" asked Kindlings, with a wink at Sid.
"They didn't--I resigned," and the rich lad shot an indignant glance at
his tormentor.
"Same thing," remarked Kindlings.
"Now then, get into the shell, and we'll try a little spin," called the
coach, and he watched carefully as each of the eight lads followed his
instructions more or less accurately. Some were a bit awkward, but all
were careful to at least step into the shell properly.
"Push off," commanded the coxswain-coach, as he took his seat in the
stern, with the tiller ropes in his hands. "You will notice that some of
you are on what is called the stroke side--that is, with your oars on
the same side as Frank Simpson, who faces me. So when I say 'stroke side
pull,' it means that only those on that side, or at my right hand, are
to row.
"Oppositely, some of you are on what is known as the bow side, or with
your oars on the side on which sits Boswell, the bow oar. That is on my
left. Though, of course, you all sit in the middle of the boat. So when
I give orders for the stroke oars to do certain things I mean for those
on Frank's side to obey. Now then, row, stroke oars!"
Four blades shot back and took the water, not all at once, as they
should have done, but fairly well for the first time. As the craft
was heading down stream, with the stroke oars nearest the float, this
man[oe]uver tended to swing the craft farther out into the river to clear
the dock.
"Row, bows!" came the order, and the others, dipping their blades,
slewed the craft around until she was straight again, and far enough out
to enable a good start to be made.
"Very good!" complimented the coach. "Now then, row all!"
The frail shell, like some grotesque water spider, darted ahead, the
water swirling under the broad blades.
"Hurray!" yelled the crowd along the bank and on the dock.
"They're off!" shouted Jerry Jackson.
"The first spin!" added his brother. "I wonder if we can turn out a
winning crew?"
"Of course we can, Joe me lad!" cried Bricktop Molloy, coming up at that
moment. "Of course that's not sayin' it wouldn't be much better with me
in the boat, but it can't be helped now. I'm a bit late," he added. "Ten
thousand maledictions on Pitchfork for detainin' me. But who's that at
bow?"
"Bossy," some one told him.
"That calf! Sure he can row though!" the Irish student added,
half-admiringly, as he watched the efforts of the rich lad.
The shell was well out in the river now, spinning along at a rapid pace.
Of course it was far from being at racing speed, but even a little power
sent the knife-like boat along at a great rate, so little resistance was
there.
"Steady all!" called Mr. Lighton, in a low voice, as he noticed a
tendency to splash on the part of some. "Get your oars in the water with
force. Get hold of the water all together. When you do, it will sound
like a stone falling in--a chug--a noise like a 'rotten egg', as it is
called. Try for that. The eight oars ought to sound like a single pair
when you learn to row in unison.
"Pick it up a little faster, bow!" he called to Boswell.
"This is the way I learned to row," came the retort from the bow oar.
"Well, you'll have to unlearn some things," retorted the coach, grimly.
"Don't look so worried, Tom," he went on a little later. "You're picking
up your stroke fairly well. Frank, a little more forward--reach out well
over your toes. That's better. Now let's hit it up a little."
They had been rowing about twenty strokes per minute--rather slow, and,
as Mr. Lighton indicated an increase, Frank followed, until they were
doing twenty-four, a substantial advance. As they rowed along, Tom
glanced away from Frank's rising and falling back, and said in a low
voice:
"Here comes Boxer Hall!"
CHAPTER VIII
RUTH'S LOSS
"Silence number seven--eyes in the boat--on the man in front of you!"
Thus the coach called to Tom, but there was no sting in his words, and
the tall baseball pitcher of Randall knew that it was for the good of
himself and the crew. Nothing is so important in a race as to save one's
wind, and to keep one's eyes fairly glued on the back of the man in
front of one. For on unison, and in rowing exactly in time with every
other man in the shell, does the race depend.
"Never mind Boxer Hall," went on Mr. Lighton. "We're going to beat her,
but we won't unless we learn how to keep our eyes in our own boat.
Steady there, Sid!"
On came the Boxer Hall eight. They were rowing down the stream, as were
our friends, but the rival college shell was in the rear, having gone up
stream earlier in the day, being now on the return trip.
"Don't try to race them when they pass us," cautioned Mr. Lighton, who
had not even turned his head to see the approaching shell behind him.
"It will be a temptation, I know, but we are not ready for a spurt yet."
"Are we going to let them pass us?" demanded the rich lad, almost
forgetting to row.
"Don't talk!" came sharply from the coxswain. "It's your business to
row, Boswell, if you want to be in this eight. You almost lost a stroke
then, and see how the boat slews! I have to shift the rudder to correct
it, and in a race that might mean the loss of considerable distance.
Pick up your stroke, and don't race!"
The face of the rich lad expressed disappointment, and his was not
the only one. Certainly it was a bit galling to let Boxer Hall--their
ancient rival--pass them, and the first time Randall was out in her
eight, too!
But afterward all admitted the wisdom of the course taken by the coach.
They were in no condition to race, and, green as most of them were as to
how to behave in a tricky shell, they might have had an upset. Not they
would have minded that, but they would have been the laughing-stock of
Boxer Hall.
On came the rivals, the oars being feathered beautifully. They took
the water with that peculiar chugging sound that always denotes a
well-trained crew.
"Listen, all of you," advised Mr. Lighton in a low voice. "That's what I
mean by the 'rotten-egg' sound. It's when the oar blade is plunged under
water as you begin your stroke. Try to attain it--after they pass."
The Boxer Hall lads, rowing perhaps a trifle faster than they had been
doing, sitting perhaps a trifle straighter, and pulling a bit harder--a
natural showing off--came opposite the shell containing our friends of
Randall.
"Want to try a little spurt?" called Dave Ogden, from the coxswain's
seat.
"No, thank you--we're just out for practice. It's our first spin,"
replied Mr. Lighton. "Some other time."
"Why not now?" murmured Boswell.
"Silence in the bow!" exclaimed the coach, sharply.
"You're a martinet!" retorted the rich lad, but in so low a voice that
only Phil, sitting in front of him, heard.
Not a lad in the Boxer Hall shell spoke, though several nodded in
friendly fashion at their acquaintances in the Randall boat. They were
evidently well trained, and were saving their wind.
On they rowed, passing those who hoped to prove themselves formidable
rivals by the following Fall. And in spite of the command of Mr. Lighton
for all eyes to be in the boat, hardly a lad of the eight but glanced
enviously at the smoothly-swinging shell, that looked so trim and so
neat. For, in spite of the work expended on the second-hand craft, it
showed what it was.
"But it won't be long before we have a better one," thought Tom.
"Row easy, all," came the command from the coach, when the Boxer Hall
boat had passed around a bend of the stream.
The stroke was slackened, to the relief of all, for, though they were
sturdy lads, rowing was a form of exercise to which they were not much
accustomed, especially in a shell. The strangeness of the seats, the toe
stretchers, and the outriggers added to their confusion, so that the
fatigue was almost as much one of attention and brain power as of muscle.
"Now for a turn against the current," remarked the coach, when they had
gone on a mile or two more. "This will give you some resistance to work
against."
The shell was turned, after a fashion, Mr. Lighton being anxious not
to bring too much strain on the outriggers, the turning action always
involving this.
"Give way!" came the command, and the shell started back up stream.
This was harder work, but the coach, desiring to know if he had any
members on the crew who were likely to prove of less service than the
others, kept them all up to a good stroke. There was some panting when
the float was reached, a larger crowd than before being there to welcome
the first tentative crew. But, to do the lads justice, not one but had
stood the strain well, even the fault-finding Boswell.
"Well rowed for the first time!" complimented Mr. Lighton. "Now, then,
a good shower bath and a rub-down, and then some light exercise to keep
from getting stiff, for you have used muscles to-day that seldom came
into play before. Now who's for another crew?" and he picked out eight
more lads, who went off in the shell.
"That was great!" cried Tom, as, with his three particular chums he
started for the gymnasium.
"It sure was," agreed Sid. "I never thought I could do so well."
"And I never knew I could do so rotten!" came from Frank. "I used to
think I was some pumpkins with an oar, but this has taken all the
conceit out of me."
"Same here," agreed Phil. "But I think we're on the right road."
"Boxer Hall did fine," went on Tom. "I give them credit for that. I wish
we'd started at rowing years ago. It's a shame it was so neglected at
Randall."
"It was dandy of those old grads to think to put us in the way of it
once more," went on Sid. "We'll have to pass them a vote of thanks."
Thus talking the boys went into the gymnasium, whence they emerged a
little later, glowing, and feeling the spring and buoyancy of youth.
"Hello, what's this?" asked Phil, as they entered their room, and saw
some letters on the table.
"From the girls!" cried Tom, as he saw a certain hand-writing.
"Here, you've got mine!" declared Frank, making a grab for the epistle
in Sid's hand.
"Beg your pardon old man--so I have. I'll trade," and soon the four lads
were busy perusing four notes.
"They're going to have a dance," spoke Tom. "A week from to-night. Will
we go? I guess yes! That is, I don't think we have any date for that
evening."
"If I have I'll break it," said Sid, quickly.
"Listen to the old misogynist--him as wouldn't used to speak to a girl!"
cried Phil. "Oh, what a change! What a change!"
"Dry up!" commanded Sid, making a reach for his chum, who nimbly escaped
by leaping behind the sofa.
"Say, this is pretty indefinite," went on Tom. "They just ask us to
come, and don't say who's to take who, or anything like that."
"And there are a new lot of fellows at Fairview," said Frank. "I move
that we go over and make sure of our girls. I don't want to get left."
"I should have thought Ruth would be more definite," put in Phil. "But
say, we've got time to run over and back before grub. Come on."
Regardless of the fact that they had just come in from a hard row, they
soon got into their "semi-best suits," as Sid called them, and hurried
to the trolley that would land them at the co-educational institution.
"There are the girls!" exclaimed Tom, who, being in the lead, as he and
his chums crossed the campus a little later, saw the four; Ruth, Madge
Tyler, Mabel Harrison and Helen Newton.
They paired off--as they always did--and soon were walking in different
directions. Tom was with Ruth Clinton, and after the matter of the dance
had been settled, and she had agreed to accompany him, as doubtless the
other girls had done for the other lads, the tall pitcher, with a glance
at his pretty companion remarked:
"New pin, Ruth? Where did you get it?" and he looked at her
collar-fastening.
"Hush!" she exclaimed, looking quickly around. "Don't tell Phil!"
"Why not?" Tom wanted to know. "Doesn't he want you to have jewelry?"
"Yes, but listen, you remember that dear old-fashioned brooch I used to
wear? The one with the secret spring in the back, that, when you pressed
on it, showed a little picture of me. Do you remember that?"
"Do I? I should say I did! And how you dropped it at a dance once, and I
had to crawl down under the palms in the conservatory to get it."
"And you in your dress suit, poor boy!" and Ruth laughed. "I should say
you might well remember it. But, Tom, this is serious," and she grew
grave at once. "I've lost that brooch!"
"Lost it--how?"
"Or, rather, it's been stolen, and I don't dare tell Phil. You know the
clasp was broken, or something was the matter with it. That's the reason
it fell off that time you had to hunt for it."
"And did it drop again? Tell me where, and I'll search until----"
"No, Tom, it wouldn't do any good," and Ruth sighed.
"Why not?"
"Because it's been stolen!"
"Stolen!"
"Yes. Listen. I feel dreadfully about it. You know it was a gift from
my grandmother. She is a dear, old-fashioned lady, and she has lots of
lovely old-fashioned jewelry. She always said she disliked the present
styles, and when she gave me that pin she made me promise to wear it,
and never be ashamed of it, even if it was a century old.
"Of course I promised, for the pin _was_ a beauty. And grandmother
always said that if I took good care of it, and wore it whenever I went
out, she would leave me her lovely string of pearls. Of course I would
have worn the pin without that. And now it's been taken!"
"Taken! By someone here at college?"
"Hush, not so loud! I gave it to a jeweler, a Mr. Farson, in
Haddonfield, to repair the clasp, and I just got word from him to-day
that it was taken. So I had to buy another pin to fasten my collar with,
and I'm so afraid Phil will notice it; or that grandmother may hear
about it! She'll say I'm careless."
"Did Farson have your brooch?" cried Tom.
"Yes. Why?"
"And did he tell you how it was taken?"
"Well, he said it was taken with a lot of other things that he had
collected from his customers to repair. He offered to get me another,
but of course I never can get one like that."
"Say!" exclaimed Tom, greatly excited. "Your pin must have been in that
box he left in his motor-boat, when the craft was wrecked on Crest
Island and when the Boxer Hall cups were taken. By Jove! This brings
that robbery home to me all right!" and Tom looked strangely at Ruth.
CHAPTER IX
ON CREST ISLAND
"What do you mean?" cried the girl, impressed by Tom's strange manner.
"Why, didn't you hear? This jeweler had been going about collecting
work for repairing, and left a lot of it in a box in his boat. Then
he was called away suddenly, and remained away over night. A flood
came up, swept his boat away, wrecked it on Crest Island, and we four
fellows found it there. But the jewelry case was empty. Didn't you hear
that--and about the Boxer Hall cups?"
"I believe I did," answered Ruth, slowly. "But I did not know then, that
my brooch was in that box. Oh, Tom, do you suppose it could be on Crest
Island?"
"I don't know, Ruth. The box was empty when we found it, and we think
someone located it before we did, and rifled it."
"Oh, Tom, my dear pin! If grandmother hears I've lost it she'll never
forgive me--and then her pearls, too; not that I care so much about
them, but this pin was given her by her husband, when they were
courting, and she thought the world of it. It was made abroad, of a
peculiar pattern, and never could be replaced. It was an heirloom, and
she must have thought a lot of me to let me take it.
"Oh, I just can't bear to tell her it is gone! Maybe we can find it.
Perhaps it is on the island yet. Maybe it dropped from the box. Tell me;
was Phil along when you found the box?"
"Yes, but of course he didn't know that anything of yours was in it."
"Then please don't tell him. He might think I ought to tell grandmother
about it--he's so peculiar. And I _will_ tell her, if worse comes to
worst, and I can't get it back. But, oh, Tom! do you suppose it could be
on the island?" and she looked eagerly at him.
"If it's there I'll find it!" declared the tall pitcher, perhaps with
more zeal than discretion.
"And don't you tell a soul!"
"I won't," he promised.
"Could you take me with you, Tom? I'd like to help you hunt for it."
"Of course," he said, promptly. "The weather is getting fine now. We'll
row over to the island some day, and make a search. But that pin isn't
going to be easy to find."
"No, I realize that, Tom. But it will make me feel better to help look
for it. Oh, how careless of that jeweler to leave his things in the
boat!"
"It was, in a way, but he could not tell he was going to be summoned
away, nor that the flood would come. I feel sorry for him."
"So do I, but--I want my brooch back," and Ruth smiled at Tom. "Now
don't say anything, and don't notice my new pin--at least in front of
Phil," she stipulated. "If I can get the old one back, then it will
be time enough to tell him. Oh, here he comes now, with Madge. Yes, I
think the dance will be perfectly fine!" exclaimed Ruth, in loud tones,
to change the conversation for the benefit of her brother and Madge.
Tom took his cue instantly, and the four were soon engaged in a lively
conversation, Ruth, meanwhile, telegraphing signals to Tom with her
eyes, while she arranged a bit of her lace collar over the new pin, so
that her brother would not notice it.
Plans for the dance being duly made, the boys took a regretful
departure. But it was high time, for Miss Philock sent one of the
teachers to Ruth and the girls, to tell them that visiting hours were
over.
"Until the next time!" called the girls, as the boys walked off.
"And, Tom," whispered Ruth, "don't forget."
"I'll not!" he promised.
"Hello, what's up between you and Sis?" asked Phil, quickly.
"Oh, we're just arranging a little expedition," was the answer of his
chum.
But Tom could not carry out his plan of taking the girl to Crest Island
the next day. It rained, and baseball practice was ordered in the cage
at the gymnasium.
As I do not, in this book, intend to devote much space to baseball at
Randall (seeing that I have fully discussed several games in other books
of this series), it is sufficient to say that all of our friends played
on the varsity nine, together with some new students, and that Randall
bade fair to win the championship at this time. Which she later did,
though not without hard work.
Then came several days of practice in the eight-oared shell, and in
the four, the double, and singles, which had, in the meanwhile, been
received. There was much enthusiasm, and Mr. Lighton had to press in
as coaches some post-graduate students who knew rowing fairly well.
But he himself gave his time to the eight. A number of other lads had
been tried in it, and among those who had taken the first practice spin
several shifts in position were made.
But at last a fine, warm, sunny Spring day came, and Tom, after an early
lecture one afternoon, arrayed himself in a costume suitable for rowing,
and, with some cushions under his arm, set off for the boathouse.
"Whither away?" asked Phil, as he surveyed his chum.
"Oh, out for a row," and Tom strove to make his voice indifferent.
"With cushions; eh? Want any company?"
"No, thanks, old man. No offense, of course," he hastened to add,
"but----"
"None taken!" exclaimed Phil. "Guess I'll go get a girl myself."
As Tom neared the boathouse he met Sid and Frank.
"Want me to pull an oar?" asked the former, as he saw the tall pitcher.
"No. I can manage," and Tom proceeded to get out a light boat.
"I say, old man," put in Frank, with a wink at Sid. "Lend me one of
those cushions; will you. I'm going----"
"You're going to get one of your own!" interrupted Tom. "I need these."
"You mean the lady does," added Sid, with a laugh. "Go on, you old
deserter. We'll be going out in the shell, later."
"Will you?" exclaimed Tom. "I wonder if I'd better--Oh, go and be hanged
to you!" he added. "I'll get practice enough," and he got into the boat
and rowed away.
"Wonder where he's going?" spoke Frank.
"Give it up," replied Sid. "Let's find Phil, and get ready for a spin."
Meanwhile Tom made good time to Fairview, and found Ruth awaiting him,
he having previously telephoned to her to be in readiness.
"Oh, Tom, I wonder if we will have any luck?" she exclaimed, as they set
off, her three girl chums watching her curiously.
"I hope so," he answered, "but, really, I can't hold out much. A brooch
is so small, and Crest Island is rather large. But we'll look near the
place where the box lodged. The pin may still be there."
It was not a short row to Crest Island, but Tom did not mind it. Indeed
he was rather sorry when the place was reached.
He lost no time in proceeding to the spot where he and his chums had
picked up the jewelry box. The place seemed just the same, with no
evidence of any other visitors. It was rather early for the Summer
crowds to come, and none of the several cottages had opened.
The two spent some time in making a careful search, beginning at the
point where the wrecked boat had been found, and working along both
shores--that is, after a search at the spot where the box had been
picked up. But no brooch rewarded their efforts.
"I guess you'll have to wait until the other things are located," said
Tom. "Your pin may be among them."
"Let's walk on a little farther," proposed Ruth. "I want to look at
Madge Tyler's cottage."
"Has Madge a cottage here?" asked the lad, in surprise.
"Her people have taken one for the Summer. Madge has invited us girls to
spend several weeks with her. Where are you boys going this vacation?"
"To Crest Island!" replied Tom promptly, though, a moment before, he had
had not the slightest idea.
"Oh, you're just _saying_ that!" challenged Ruth.
"No, really I'm not!" he insisted. "If you girls are going to cottage
here, I don't see why we can't camp. Other fellows do."
"Oh, it would be nice, of course," she admitted, as they strolled along.
"There's the Tyler place," called Ruth a little later. "I recognize the
description. Isn't it lovely?"
"Fine!" agreed Tom. "And that looks like a good camping place," and he
indicated a spot not far off.
They soon gave up looking for the lost brooch, which, as Ruth said, was
like searching for a needle in a haystack. They strolled some distance
on the island, admiring the Summer cottages that would soon be open, and
then turned back.
Not far from the spot where Tom and his chums had found the rifled
jewelry box Tom saw a sort of shack, or small hut, off between the trees.
"I wonder whose that is?" he ventured. "Let's go take a look."
"It doesn't seem very inviting," returned Ruth. "Perhaps some boatmen
live there."
The shack was deserted, but a look through the grimy windows showed that
it probably had an occupant, for there were some dishes on a table, some
pans on a rusty stove, and, in through another room, could be seen some
bunks.
"Probably a caretaker for the cottages," suggested Ruth, as she rested
her hand on a window-sill, and idly pulled out some threads that had
caught in a splinter. "Rather a strange sort of caretaker," she went on,
"who wears silk--see, these are silk threads," and she held up a number,
brightly colored.
"Where did you get those?" asked Tom, and the girl started at the
strange note in his voice.
"On the window sill," she explained. "Why?"
"Oh--nothing," was his answer, but she noted that he took the threads
from her, and carefully put them in a card case. "They might do to make
a fishing fly with," he explained, after a pause.
"Oh," she said.
They strolled around to the front door of the building to find it
locked.
"There's someone's card," remarked Ruth, as she touched a bit of
pasteboard with the toe of her shoe. "Maybe it was on the door, telling
at what hour the person who lives here would return."
"Maybe," agreed Tom, stooping to pick it up. "I'll fasten it back again.
I wonder who does live here?"
Idly he turned the card over. Then he started in surprise, for the name
that met his eyes was:
_Reginald Boswell_
"Who is it?" asked Ruth. "Anyone I know?"
"I--I fancy not," answered Tom, still staring at the card. "I wonder how
that got here?" he mused. "And I wonder who lives in this shack?" and
putting the bit of pasteboard in his pocket, he swung around.
"I guess we'd better be getting back," he said to Ruth. "It's getting
late, and it's a bit of a pull. I'm sorry we couldn't find your brooch."
"So am I," she admitted, with a sigh. "But it can't be helped. Oh, _how_
can I tell grandmother?"
She took Tom's arm, as the way was rough. They had not gone many feet
before they heard someone approaching, tramping through the underbrush.
"Who can that be?" asked the girl.
"I don't know--we'll look," whispered Tom.
CHAPTER X
THE GAY HANDKERCHIEF
"Who are you--what you do here?"
The question was snapped out at Tom and Ruth as they stood near the
shack. A man had come to an abrupt halt as he emerged from the bushes
and faced them; something of fear, Tom thought, mingled with anger
showing on his face. It was this man whom they had heard approaching, a
man clad in ordinary garments, yet with an indefinable foreign air about
him--an air that was accentuated by his words and inflection. He was
dark of skin, swarthy, and when he smiled, which he did a moment after
his rather harsh words of greeting, his very white teeth showed beneath
a small black moustache. A Spaniard Tom put him down for, or a Mexican.
The latter guess proved correct, as the lad learned afterward.
"You come here to--to--pardon, senor, I am forgetting my manners," went
on the fellow with a bow, and a sharp glance at Ruth. "You are here
perhaps to look at cottages--you and your charming bride."
Ruth drew in her breath sharply, and a rosy glow suffused her face. She
did not look at Tom, who chuckled audibly.
"I--I'll never speak to you if you do that again," said the girl, in a
low voice.
"Do what?" asked Tom, innocently enough.
"Laugh at--at what he said," and she still blushed, and refused to look
up.
"Pardon, senor," went on the man. "No offense, but----"
"That's all right," said Tom easily, master of himself now, but
wondering much who the man might be. "We were just looking around. Some
friends of ours have a cottage here--the Tylers----"
"Oh, yes. Then you are very welcome. In fact you would be welcome
anyhow, as this island is more or less of the public--what you say, I
have not the very good English?" and he looked questioningly at them.
"Oh, you mean that it is open to the public."
"That is so, yes, senor, and senorita. You are interested in my poor
abode here--yes?"
"Oh, we were just looking around," explained Tom. "We did peep in. No
harm, I hope."
"None at all, senor."
"I'm from Randall," the pitcher went on. "Miss Clinton is from Fairview."
"Oh, you are fellow students then?"
"Not exactly--say, rather--rivals," and Tom looked at Ruth and laughed.
The blush had somewhat subsided.
"Ah, I comprehend. I am Rafello Mendez, at your service, senor."
"My name is Parsons," went on Tom. "Sorry I haven't a card," and he
thought of the one he had picked up, which he had quickly thrust into
his pocket at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"I am what you call the take-care man around here," went on Mendez. "I
am the take-care man of the cottages--not all--some."
"The 'take-care' man," murmured Tom. "It sounds like the bugaboo-man."
"Oh, he means the care-taker," exclaimed Ruth. "I understand. You look
after the property while the cottagers are away; isn't that it?" and she
smiled at the man, who bowed low and answered:
"The senorita has said it. I am the take-care man."
"But I thought old Jake Blasdell had that job," said Tom. "I know he
used to be here. But I never knew he had this shack, though I haven't
been much on this part of the island."
"Senor Blasdell did was the take-care man," explained Mendez. "But he
was took sick, and had to leave, and a friend got me the place. Me, I
used to be of the sheep take-care in my country--Mexico, but I long for
this country and I come. I do what you call a business on the edge."
"On the edge?" murmured Tom.
"Yes, senor, on the edge. Or maybe you say on the point. You see he
is like this: I am the take-care man for the cottages in place of
Senor Blasdell in Winter. In Summer I am the cut-the-grass-man or the
garden-man, what you like. Then, besides, in addition, on the edge I
sell things in my store which it is unfortunately not open now, or I
should show the senorita some pretty things. The store I do on the
edge--or maybe on the point, I know not how you say," and he shrugged
his shoulders expressively.
"Oh, he means on the side!" cried Ruth. "Don't you understand, Tom?
He is a caretaker, and at odd times he sells things to the Summer
cottagers."
"The senorita has said it," went on Mendez. "It is on the side, not on
the edge--pardon!"
"What do you sell?" asked Tom, curiously.
"Everything. Things from the country. Of a specialty I have the
beautiful Mexican push-work, senorita."
"Push-work, that's another new one," said Tom.
"I guess he means Mexican drawn-work," explained Ruth with a smile.
"Some of it is very beautiful. He ought to do a good business here in
the Summer."
"I should, if I had all customers like the senorita," said the man with
a bow to Ruth, again showing his white teeth in an expansive smile. "I
am covered with confusion that I can show her none now. But it is all
put away. Perhaps, though, if you wait----"
"No, we must be moving on!" interrupted Tom. "It is getting late. And so
you live here all Winter?"
"Yes, senor. This little hut was part of the place where Senor Blasdell
used to stay. It was donated to me. I moved it here when I succeeded
Senor Blasdell, and added to it. It is very comfortable. I have been
over to the main land for some supplies, and when I come back I see you.
At first I am suspicious, for which I ask your pardon. You are always
welcome, the senor and senorita," and again he bowed.
"Thanks, Mr. Mendez," said Tom, rather carelessly, for somehow he did
not like the fellow. "We may see you this Summer. Some of us fellows may
camp here."
"Then I shall be pleased to show you some fine Mexican leather work.
Perhaps a lariat, spurs, bridles, and some fine silver work for the
pretty senoritas, is it not?" and the fellow smiled genially.
"Good-bye!" called Tom. "Come along, Ruth. I'll have to hit up the oars
going home or I'll have you so late that you'll get on the bad books of
the Ogress."
"Oh, I'm there already," she replied, as she nodded to the Mexican, who
bowed low in farewell. "All our crowd is, but we don't mind. Now, Tom,
did you really mean what you said about going to camp on Crest Island
this Summer?"
"I do, if I can get the other fellows to do it. I know they will, too,
for we'll be near our rowing shells, and we can have the best kind of
practice."
"Oh, is _that_ the only reason you want to come here?" and she looked
archly at him.
"Why, isn't that----" he began and then a light dawned on him.
"I guess we wouldn't come if you girls weren't to be here," he added,
quickly. "When I tell the fellows that, I know it will cinch matters.
Oh, we'll come all right."
They reached their boat, embarked, and Tom was soon sculling away from
the island.
"Queer chap--that Mendez," remarked the youth after a bit.
"Isn't he?" agreed Ruth.
"I didn't know those Mexicans were so thrifty," the rower went on.
"Being a 'care-take' man and doing Mexican 'push-work' on the 'edge'.
Pretty good; eh?"
"Yes," laughed Ruth. "I can see where we girls will spend a great deal
of our time this Summer."
"So can I," declared her companion, boldly. "With us fellows."
"Oh, you're not at all conceited; are you?"
"I didn't know it," went on Tom, tantalizingly. "But say, do you know I
didn't much like that fellow, for all his fine airs."
"Why not, pray? I thought him quite polite."
"He was--altogether too polite," murmured the lad, with a little more
force than seemed necessary. "I don't like foreigners, anyhow."
"Well, I could forgive anyone, even a foreigner, if I could get back my
brooch," sighed Ruth. "I don't know what I'm going to do about it."
"It is too bad," agreed Tom. "Now, Ruth, we won't say anything about
what happened to-day, and if you promise not to tell, I'll whisper a
secret."
"Oh, Tom, of course I won't tell--you know that!" and she looked
reproachfully at him.
"Of course--I was only joking. Well, we four fellows are trying to do a
little detective work, and recover the stolen jewelry."
"You are?"
"Yes, and if we do we may get back your brooch."
"Oh, I hope you do!" and she clapped her hands in spontaneous delight.
"Do you think you will, Tom?"
"Hard to tell, Ruth. There aren't many clues to work on. At least there
weren't until to-day----"
"Oh, did you find some to-day, Tom? Tell me, I'm so fascinated with
detective work! Did you really see some clue that escaped me?"
"Ahem! Detectives never talk about their cases, or tell about their
clues!" he exclaimed, with exaggerated gravity.
"Tom Parsons!"
"Well, really, I don't know whether I did find a clue or not, Ruth. I'm
going to think about it over night. If you can help me I won't hesitate
to call on you."
"Will you, really, Tom? That's good of you. And now I'm afraid you'll
have to row a little faster. It _is_ getting quite late."
"All right," agreed the lad, as he bent to the oars. As he rowed his
thoughts went to the card in his pocket and to the strands of silk from
the gay handkerchief.
Fortunately Ruth was not so late that Miss Philock found fault. Tom
proved himself a good rower, though after he had said good-bye he took
the course easy on the way to Randall.
"Some sculling," he told himself, as he tied up the boat and, in the
dusk of the late Spring evening, walked toward his room. "This ought to
stand me in good stead for the eight. My muscles are hardening," and he
felt of his biceps. He was in extraordinarily good training from his
baseball work.
As he was about to enter the building where he and his chums had their
rooms, he saw Boswell approaching. Tom's mind flashed to the card he had
picked up at the shack.
"I wonder what he could have been doing there?" the tall pitcher mused.
"If Mendez didn't have his store open and his stock ready for sale, how
could Bossy have bought any? And, if he didn't go there to buy anything,
why did he go at all? I give it up."
There was no time for further speculation just then, as the rich lad,
with a nod, addressed Tom.
"Where were you?" he asked with an air of familiarity that Tom rather
resented in a Freshman. "We had a fine row in the eight. I'm almost sure
of bow, and Lighton may shift me to stroke, or number seven."
"Yes?" questioned Tom indifferently, yet resolving to make a brave
struggle not to let this usurper put him out of his place in the boat.
"Sure thing. I'm coming on fine, and I've got a dandy scheme for keeping
in trim this Summer."
"Yes?"
"Yes. Our folks are going to take a cottage on Crest Island, and----"
"You are?" and Tom fairly exploded the words.
"Surest thing you know, though it's a beastly slow and unfashionable
place. We usually go to the shore. We have one cottage there, and
another in the White Mountains, but I persuaded dad to take one at Crest
for the Summer, just so I could be near the water here and get familiar
with the course we'll row next Fall. Nothing like knowing the course,
old man, really."
"No, I suppose not," and Tom's mind was busy with many things. With
Boswell on the island, matters might not be so pleasant as he had
anticipated.
"That's right. I'm going to get a professional coach, too."
"You are?" Tom's voice was still indifferent, but Boswell did not notice
it.
"Sure thing. When I go in for a thing I go in hard, and I'm going into
this rowing game for keeps."
"Well, I hope we all do," and Tom tried to be pleasant as he turned away.
"See you later," murmured the Freshman, in a patronizing tone, and, as
he turned aside he drew from his pocket a gaudy handkerchief. At the
sight of it Tom stared, for it was the same pattern as the strip of
silk found near the looted jewelry box. Tom stared at it intently as the
rich lad flourished it.
"By Jove!" suddenly exclaimed Boswell, "I've got that torn handkerchief
again," and he held it up, showing where a strip had evidently been
ripped from it. "I've got two," he explained, "and this one got torn
the other day. I thought I laid it aside, but, in my hurry, I must have
grabbed it up."
"How--how'd you tear it?" asked Tom, when he could trust his voice.
"Oh, it caught on a nail down at the boathouse, and a piece was ripped
off."
"Why--why couldn't you have it sewed on?" asked Tom.
"What? Carry a mended handkerchief? I guess not. Anyhow the piece fell
in the water and floated away. Hope you'll be in the eight next time we
practice, though I may get your place."
"Maybe," answered Tom, and he did not take the trouble to designate
which clause the word modified.
CHAPTER XI
THE FIRST BREAK
"Say, where in the name of Diogenes's lantern have you been, Tom?"
"Yes, come in you musty old deserter, and give an account of yourself.
You've been away so long that you must have forgotten the counter-sign."
"It was a girl, fellows--I can smell the perfumery!"
Thus Sid, Phil and Frank greeted the advent of our hero into the common
room, soon after he had left Boswell. Tom's brain had been so busy with
so many thoughts, after the sight of that torn handkerchief, that he had
eaten scarcely any supper, though his appetite just before that had been
of the best.
"Shove over; can't you?" was all Tom said to Phil, who was stretched out
on the old sofa.
"Sure I can. What's the matter? Got a grouch!"
"No, but I'm dead tired."
"Be careful how you flop," warned Sid, as he watched with anxiety Tom's
preparations to sit down. "That sofa doesn't gain strength with age--it
isn't like cheese in that respect."
"Where were you?" asked Phil, as Tom managed to find a resting place
without bringing forth from the sofa more than a protesting groan, and a
series of squeaks.
"Ruth and I were out for a row," said Tom shortly, knowing that the
truth would out sooner or later, and having nothing to conceal.
"Oh, ho!" exclaimed Sid.
"Where'd you go?" asked Phil, with brotherly interest.
"Crest Island. That's what kept me so long. I got her home in good
season though, and rowed slow the rest of the way."
"Crest Island!" exclaimed Frank. "Did you find any more clues, Tom?"
The tall pitcher hesitated. He was in two minds about what had taken
place that afternoon. Should he tell his chums the secret he thought
he had discovered, and get their opinions in working it out? Or should
he play a lone hand? A moment's thought convinced him. He would tell
all--that is, all save Ruth's secret. That he had no right to divulge.
"Well?" asked Frank, as his chum hesitated. "Did you find anything,
Tom?"
"I sure did, fellows," and he tossed on the table the card of Boswell,
and the strands of silk.
For a moment no one spoke, and then Sid, picking up the card remarked:
"This looks suspicious, Tom. Did you and Bossy quarrel over a girl,
and go to Crest Island to have a duel? It begins to look that
way--exchanging cards and all that."
"We didn't exchange cards," said Tom shortly. "I found that card near a
shack where a caretaker lives. And, by the way, fellows, we're going to
camp on Crest Island this Summer."
"We are?" cried Phil.
"I like the nice, easy way he has of laying out our vacation plans for
us," remarked Sid.
"Just as if he was our manager," added Frank.
"Well, I only thought it would be handy if we want to practice rowing,"
went on Tom, holding back the other reason. "We could get a boat, and
drop down to college here every day or so, take out the shell and have a
spin. If we want to beat Boxer Hall we've got to do some tall hustling,
and practice like all get-out!"
"Oh, I fancy I can practice rowing on Crystal Lake, where our folks
intend taking a cottage," said Sid. "No Crest Island for mine!"
"The girls are going to cottage there," went on Tom, with a fine
appearance of indifference. "Madge Tyler's folks have a neat little
shack there, and Ruth, Helen and Mabel are going to spend some time
with her."
"They are!" cried Frank.
"Why didn't you say so at first?" asked Sid, indignantly.
"I--er--I guess I can fix it to camp there," spoke Phil, just as if he
had never intended spending his vacation at any other place.
"Oh, you fellows were so sure you knew your own business that I didn't
want to butt in," went on the pitcher. "But, boys, what do you think of
that?" and he indicated the card and silk.
"It's the same material," spoke Frank after a bit, as he compared the
shreds Tom had pulled from the window-sill of the shack on the island,
with the torn strip found near the looted jewelry box.
"And what would you say if I told you that Bossy had a handkerchief of
that same pattern, with a strip torn off?" asked Tom, slowly.
"Has he?" asked Frank, looking sharply at his chum.
"He has."
"Then, by crimps! He's the fellow who has the cups and jewelry!" cried
Sid.
"Go easy," advised Phil. "That's the worst of you--always jumping to
conclusions."
"And why shouldn't I, when I can land on 'em as easily as I can on this
one? Isn't it as plain as can be?"
"Not altogether. We'd make fine specimens of ourselves if we went and
accused him on this evidence. You say, Tom, that you found this card
near the Mexican's shack?"
"Yes. And the shreds of silk there, too. It looks to me as if Bossy had
been there to buy a handkerchief. Two of 'em, if we're to believe him.
The Mexican probably has them as well as his 'push-work' as he calls
it," and he told all the circumstances of the visit to the island,
omitting only the search for Ruth's brooch.
"I guess that part is right," admitted Frank. "I mean about Bossy going
there to buy one of these gay handkerchiefs. But just because he did
doesn't make him guilty. In fact, what object would he have in taking
some trophy cups that he could get very little for if they were melted
up, and nothing for, if he tried to sell them as they were? No one
would buy them, for on the face of them they show what they are. Some
were engraved with the Boxer Hall fellows' names. And the other jewelry
wasn't so very valuable. Bossy wouldn't have any object in taking that.
He's got more money now, than is good for him."
"He might have been gambling, and gotten short of cash, and been afraid
of asking his folks," suggested Sid, remembering an ordeal he had gone
through in having a relative under similar circumstances, as I related
in "Batting to Win."
"I don't believe it," declared Frank. "To my mind I'd sooner suspect
this Mendez. He seems a fishy sort of character."
"Oh, I think he's straight," declared Tom. "I made some inquiries about
him while I was having grub. It seems some of the fellows here have been
buying stuff of him--last year when he was traveling around the country.
He bears a good reputation, and Hendell's father, who owns part of Crest
Island, was telling me that the property owners looked up his record
well before they let him succeed old Jake Blasdell as caretaker."
"Hum!" mused Frank. "It doesn't look as easy as it did at first, in
spite of these clues, Tom."
"That's right. Say, I'm not as much of a detective as I thought. I
wonder if that jeweler could be double-crossing us?"
"What do you mean?" asked Sid.
"I mean could he have lost the box of jewelry overboard before his boat
was carried away by the flood? If he did, he could make up the story
that he left it in the locker, and that someone else got it when the
boat was wrecked."
"That's possible, though not probable," admitted Frank. "Fellows, my
advice is that we put these things away, and forget all about them
to-night. In the morning we may see matters clearer. I've got to do
some boning anyhow. Put 'em away, Tom."
Soon only the ticking of the fussy, little alarm clock was heard,
mingled with the rattle of paper as books were leafed or as the lads
wrote out their lessons. Even the clock stopped after a bit, and the
sudden silence was so startling that Phil exclaimed:
"She's run down! Hope nothing's the matter with her," and he picked up
the timepiece with an anxious face.
"Probably got toothpickitis," suggested Tom. "Give it a shake."
Phil did so, with the result that a piece of toothpick did fall out, and
then the clock went on ticking again.
"That's better," sighed Phil, though often he had objected to the
incessant noise. "It would be like losing an old friend if that went
back on us."
He settled into the depths of one of the old armchairs, Sid being in
another, while Frank, who had succeeded to the sofa stretched out
luxuriously on that, having ousted Tom, who, on a stool drawn up to the
table, was making an ancient war map that was to be used in class the
next day.
Morning brought no clearer view to the puzzling problem of the clues to
the missing jewelry, and, having all agreed to keep silent about the
matter, the lads laid aside the articles and hurried to chapel. In the
several days that followed nothing new in that line developed.
There came several baseball contests, in which Tom and his chums
distinguished themselves. The long vacation was approaching, and more
or less "boning" had to be done if the lads intended to pass their
examinations. All these things, with the rowing practice, kept them busy
so that Tom, as was the case with the others, had little chance to see
the girls.
The other second-hand rowing craft were made good use of, and those who
were to go in the four were practically picked. So were the singles and
doubles, though of course a change might be made in the Fall, when new
material would come to Randall.
All eyes, and most of the interest, however, was on and in the eight.
On this Randall built her hopes of becoming champion of the river and
lake league. Though when word came of the fast time made by Boxer Hall
and Fairview in their practice spins, there were doubtful shakes of the
head, for Randall was nowhere near as good.
Then came the annual Boxer Hall-Fairview races. It was about an even
thing between the two colleges, until it came time for the eight-oared
contest. There was even a tub race, and the boys at Randall decided to
have one when it came time for them to take part in the regatta.
But Boxer won the eight with ease over Fairview, and when Mr. Lighton,
who with most of those who had practiced in Randall's big shell,
witnessed the exciting finish, he shook his head.
"We've got to do some tall hustling," he remarked, "and make some
changes. I'll start in on them to-morrow."
There was a larger number than usual at practice on Sunny River the next
day. All Randall seemed to be at the boathouse. Adjoining the old one a
start had already been made on erecting the new structure, presented by
the alumni. Word had been received that the new shells would be ready in
ample time for the Fall races.
"Young men!" exclaimed Coach Lighton, as the eight was slipped into the
water, "I'm going to make some radical changes in the crew, and I want
none of you to feel sore, because, you know, it is for the good of the
college. We have not been rowing well, of late, and there are several
faults to correct. The boat hangs a bit, and is a trifle heavy by the
stern. She drags. I know one reason for this, it is my own weight, and
so I am going to suggest that you now try one of yourselves as coxswain.
I am a little too 'beefy' for the place.
"Jerry Jackson, you take the tiller ropes. You've had more practice than
any of the others, and you're too light to hope to be at the oars."
"All right," agreed Jerry, cheerfully. After all it was an honor to
steer the eight.
"Simpson, you'll stay at stroke, and, Parsons, I'm going to send you
back a bit. No offense, but you're not quite quick enough in picking up
the stroke. I think it's your baseball arm that's at fault. Molloy, you
take Parsons' place, and Tom will go number three. From three, Henderson
will go to bow. He's about the right weight for there when we get
Jackson in as coxswain. And, Jerry, you'll want to shift your seat a bit
aft, to make up for the extra weight they've been carrying in me. That
will make a good change, I think."
There was some murmuring over the changes, and obviously nearly all were
pleased. Molloy especially, for he had been fretting lest he be kept out
of the eight. As for Tom he was rather glad, on the whole, that he did
not have the responsibility of picking up Frank's stroke, for it was a
responsibility, and it was telling on him. He had begun to realize that
his baseball pitching had made him a bit awkward in one arm.
"Say, where do I come in?" suddenly asked Boswell. "I was at bow, and
now--I'm nowhere, Mr. Lighton."
"I'll work you in another crew, Boswell," said the coach, sharply.
"But I want to be in the varsity."
"This isn't the varsity any more than any other collection of eight
rowers is. The varsity isn't picked yet, and won't be until the Fall."
"Well, this looks very much like the varsity to me," sneered Boswell.
"All the fellows in it are on the varsity nine----"
"That'll do you!" said the coach, snappily.
"Then I'm not to row at bow?"
"Not in this eight."
"Then I don't row at all!" and, with a fierce glance at the selected
rowers, the rich lad turned sharply and walked off to the dressing rooms.
"The first break," murmured Tom.
"Take your places," spoke the coach, quietly. "I'm going to follow you
in the launch. Jackson, make 'em do as you tell 'em!"
CHAPTER XII
A FRIENDLY BRUSH
There was a small motor-boat, the property of the rowing association
at Randall, having been acquired since the new interest in racing, and
several times Mr. Lighton had used it to coach the lads in the fours,
singles or doubles, running alongside of them. He now proposed to make
use of it to coach the eight, since this was the first time (save for a
few practice runs of short length) that he had not acted as coxswain.
In the latter tries Jerry Jackson had steered, and, as he owned a
motor-boat of his own, which he ran every Summer, he was an apt pupil.
Little was said of the changes made, until the shell was well out in
the river, and then Phil, who was, in the new arrangement, next to Tom,
remarked:
"How do you like it, and what do you think of it?"
"I think Bossy was a calf to show his temper that way, and I like it
here better than in the stern. I can row better when I don't have to
worry about picking up Frank's stroke."
"Say, but he's a peach at it!" exclaimed Sid, admiringly, from his place
at bow oar.
"Silence in the bows!" came the sharp command of Jerry Jackson.
"Listen to him," spoke Bricktop, who was at number seven.
"That won't do, boys!" came the sharp voice of the coach, as he ran his
little launch up alongside. "If you're not going to accord to Jackson,
while he is in the position of coxswain, the same respect you gave me,
you might as well give up rowing now and for all. You can't talk and
row. You need too much breath for the latter. So if you want to talk,
and gibe the coxswain, then the place for you is on shore."
"Right!" exclaimed Sid. "I'll be good."
"Same here," came from Tom.
"I beg your pardon, coxswain," said Phil.
Bricktop Molloy, grinning while the sweat ran down from his forehead,
outlined in red hair, into his eyes, whispered:
"What you say, goes!"
And then Bricktop, being as loyal a Randallite as there was, proceeded
to row as he had never before, while Frank set a killing stroke. The
little lesson was not wasted.
Running along in the launch, by means of which he could keep close to
the shell, Mr. Lighton gave valuable advice. He could do it to better
advantage now that he was not in the boat.
"Cut 'em down some," advised the coach, after Frank's little spurt.
"About twenty-eight a minute will do now. We'll try a ten-mile bit
to-day."
Some of the lads felt their hearts sink at this. Eight had been the
limit so far, but they realized that they were in for a grilling, and
they stiffened their backs to it.
"Row out your strokes," went on the coach. "Use every ounce of strength
you have, and remember that your muscular force, applied at the
beginning, does ten times the work as if you put it in at the end. Keep
together. Get the oars in the water at the same time, and out together.
"Feather a bit higher--the water is rough to-day and you don't want to
splash. Try to imagine you are all a part of one man rowing in a small
boat. Make your oars rise and fall together. They're a bit ragged now."
With such good advice did the coach urge on the lads, and they responded
nobly. In a short time, though the rowing had gone a bit awkwardly at
first, there was a noticeable improvement.
As Mr. Lighton had said, the boat had been a bit heavy aft, and had
dragged. With his weight gone, and with a lighter coxswain, and with the
other changes, there was great improvement. Instead of hanging in the
water the shell seemed to glide through it at a steady rate. There was
no jerking progress, but a steady onward movement, the perfection of
rowing.
"Get a little more into the finish of the stroke!" called the coach
at one point. "You must get the beginning of the stroke with the body
only, but finish with the arms and shoulders. Send your elbows past your
sides. Drop your shoulders, but keep up your heads and chests."
Thus he corrected fault after fault, until on the return from that row
not a lad but felt he had made great improvement. They were all grateful
for the change, even Tom, who had been shifted from the post of most
honor, next to the stroke. Of course, Boswell, who, like Achilles,
sulked in his room, could not be expected to be happy.
"It wasn't a fair thing," he declared to his chum, Elwood Pierce. "I
ought to have been kept at bow, or they might have made me stroke."
"That's right, old chap," agreed Elwood. "But what can you expect of
such beastly rotters? It wouldn't be that way over in Oxford."
Rumor had it that Pierce had tried to enter Oxford, but had failed
miserably. He always declared that the English climate did not agree
with him.
The Randall eight was within a few miles of their boathouse when the
rowers saw approaching around the bend of the stream the Fairview eight,
swinging along at a good pace. Instantly there came into the minds of
all the same thought.
Mr. Lighton who was alongside, must have realized it, for he called out:
"I won't mind if you have a brush with them, if they're willing. But
don't get too excited or anxious over it."
"Ready!" called Jerry Jackson.
Not get excited! As well tell a racehorse not to gallop when he hears
the pit-pat of hoofs behind him. The hearts of all quickened.
On came the Fairview eight out for a final practice spin. Their season
was over, but they were keeping in training for the races in the Fall.
"Want a brush?" asked Jerry of Roger Barns, who was coxswain.
"Sure!" came the reply. "And we'll give you a start."
"We don't want it!" snapped Tom. "Even terms or nothing!"
"That's right!" murmured Frank, as he took a tighter grip on his oar.
The two eights were now on even terms. Mr. Lighton, with a final nod of
encouragement, steered his craft out of the way.
"Give way, boys!" cried Jerry, as he grasped the tiller lines.
"Show 'em how we row, even if Boxer Hall did beat us!" called Roger.
With eager strokes the lads took up the race, and, though it was but a
friendly brush it meant more to Randall than any realized, save those
thinly-clad lads in the shell. It was their first chance to see what
they could do against a formidable rival.
CHAPTER XIII
THE LONG VACATION
"Come on now, fellows! Hit her up!" exclaimed Jerry Jackson, in a low
voice.
"No, not yet!" whispered Frank, as he bent forward in his place at
stroke until he was nearer the lad at the tiller ropes. "Feel 'em out
first, Jerry. Don't go breaking our hearts in the first mile. We've got
a good ways to go in this little race, and the spurt will come toward
the end, if I'm not mistaken. It would be pie for them if we rowed
ourselves out, and then they would simply spurt past us. They're older
hands at it than we are."
"I guess you're right, Frank," admitted Jerry, who took the advice in
good part.
He had not been acting as coxswain long enough to feel resentment that
his orders were not obeyed. He realized, also, that the lads at the oars
had all the work to do, and, as it was not a regular race, when the
coxswain had to be the general, it was no more than fair that the ones
who had to do the labor should have a voice in saying how it was to be
done.
"Wait until we--get into a--good swing. Let us pull at--this stroke--for
a while," went on Frank, speaking rather jerkily, and whispering every
time his head came close to Jerry, in leaning forward to make his
stroke. "Watch 'em, and when--you think we can spurt--then give--the
word."
"All right," assented the coxswain. He looked over at the Fairview
shell, and noted that Roger Barns, the coxswain, was closely regarding
the Randall eight.
"They're sizing us up," thought Jerry. "Well, we may not be such a
muchness now, but by Hector! When we start in regular training this
Fall, if we don't make 'em sit up and notice which side their tea
is buttered on I'm a Dutchman, and that's no wallflower at a dance,
either!" and Jerry shut his lips firmly and felt delicately of the
tiller lines, shifting the rudder slightly to learn that the shell was
in good control. She responded to the lightest touch, being indeed a
well-built craft and as light as a feather, though with sufficient
stiffness--that quality always hard to get in a frail shell.
The two racing machines were now moving swiftly along, being about on
even terms. Now and then, seemingly in response to a signal from their
coxswain, the Fairview lads would hang back a bit, allowing the Randall
shell to creep up. Evidently it was a little trick, played with the
hope that Randall would spurt, and give her rivals an opportunity to
sweep ahead of them in splendid style, thus winning the impromptu race.
If such was the intention Randall did not bite at the bait, for Frank,
in a few whispered words to Jerry, advised him not to signal for a
quicker stroke.
"Say, is this a race or a crocheting party?" grumbled big Dutch
Housenlager. "Vat you t'ink, Kindlings."
"I'm thinking that--I'm--getting winded," panted Dan Woodhouse.
"Silence up there!" exclaimed Jerry, sharply. "It isn't a talking match,
whatever else it is! You'll get all the race you want pretty soon. We're
coming to a good stretch and I think they'll hit it up there. Be ready
for the word, fellows."
"Say, boys, he talks; but he won't let us!" complained Bricktop, winking
at Jerry.
"That means you!" insisted the coxswain. He glanced ahead. The launch
with the coach had speeded off and was some distance up the river now,
evidently waiting for the finish of the little brush.
The talk in the Randall eight had been carried on in low tones, for
sounds carry wonderfully clear over water, and the lads, realizing
this, did not want their rivals to hear them.
Jerry stole another glance at the Fairview eight, and, unconsciously,
probably, nearly every Randall man did likewise. The result was some
uneven and ragged rowing, and a bit of splashing.
"Eyes in the boat!" came the sharp command from the little coxswain.
"Oh, you tyrant!" breathed Bricktop Molloy, but his smile took the sting
from the words.
An instant later Jerry detected a movement in the rival shell.
"The spurt is coming!" he reasoned. "We must be ready for it!"
He hesitated but an instant, and then, as he noted Roger Barns
straighten up slightly in his coxswain seat, and take a fresh grip on
the tiller ropes, Jerry called:
"Ready boys! Hit her up. Thirty to the minute!"
At once the Randall shell shot forward almost as though raised from the
water, for the oars caught evenly and every man fairly lifted himself
from his seat, to urge the craft ahead.
"Come on, now!" cried Jerry. "Keep it up!"
He swayed his body to indicate the time of the stroke, and he was
pleased to note that all the lads in the shell were rowing in unison.
The blades of the oars dipped well--not too deeply--and the feathering,
while it might have been better, was fair for a raw crew. Jerry stole
one look over to the Fairview eight, and noted that he had not been
mistaken. They, too, had spurted at the same time. Randall had not been
caught napping.
For several minutes this kept up, and Fairview could not seem to shake
off her rival, and shoot ahead. Then a command could be heard given in
that shell. What it was Jerry could not catch, but he saw the time of
the Fairview rowers quicken.
"Can you stand another stroke or two, boys?" he asked in a low voice.
Frank nodded without speaking. Indeed his breath, as well as the breath
of his companions, was all needed for the work.
"A little livelier," ordered Jerry, and he added two more strokes to the
minute.
Of course the effect was not so great as before, but it told, and
Fairview, which had begun creeping ahead, was held in check by Randall.
Another minute passed, and then the superior training and practice of
Fairview told. Slowly she forged ahead, and nothing the Randall lads
could do could prevent it. They were at their limit now, or at least
the limit to which Jerry dared push them. With straining eyes he shot a
quick glance across, and noted with despair that Fairview was a good
quarter of a length ahead. Another minute and she was a half.
"One more stroke!" pleaded the coxswain, and Frank nodded desperately.
Slowly Randall began creeping up again, but it could not last.
And then came a narrow turn in the river, a rather dangerous place with
cross currents.
"Easy all!" called Roger Barns, and his crew ceased rowing. It was a
signal that the impromptu race was over.
"Easy all!" commanded Jerry, with a sigh that they had not won. But at
that Fairview was only a scant quarter of a length in advance. Randall
had been beaten, but not by much.
"Congratulations!" called Roger to his rival steersman. "You're coming
on, Randall."
"Oh, we'll beat you in the Fall," retorted Jerry, cheerfully.
"We'd have walked away from you if it hadn't been the tail end of the
season," declared Hadfield Spencer, the Fairview stroke. "We're not in
training."
"Oh, don't crawl," said the coxswain. "They rowed a good race."
And this was praise indeed, from no mean rival, and from the coxswain of
a crew that had given Boxer Hall, the river champions, a hard race.
"Well done, boys! Well done!" exclaimed Coach Lighton, as he came
puffing up in his launch. "You did better than I expected you would.
Fairview, we'll be ready for you in the Fall."
"We'll take you on all right," replied Roger Barns, with a genial laugh.
"And you steered exceedingly well, Jackson," went on the coach, as the
Fairview shell pulled off. "I was afraid you would spurt too soon, but
you held yourself well in."
"I was watching the other fellows," said Jerry.
"That's the way to do," was the comment. "Now take it easy to the float."
There was talk all through Randall that night of the performance of the
eight.
"I think we have just the right crew now," confided the coach to Dr.
Churchill, when he went to dine with the venerable head of Randall.
"Ah, I am exceedingly glad to hear that. It will be a source of
gratification to the alumni who have so generously provided for the
racing material. And you say our boys nearly won from Fairview? How many
innings did the game go? What was the score, and did Parsons pitch?"
"Ah--er--my dear Doctor,--er--we were talking about the crew," said the
coach, delicately.
"Oh, yes, so we were," admitted the good doctor, in some confusion.
"I was thinking of football, was I not? And so we have a good crew.
Hum! Very well. I am so occupied with my translations of those Assyrian
tablets that I fear my mind wanders at times."
At times! Ah, Dr. Churchill, more often than "at times" did your mind
wander! But what of that? It was keen enough on all occasions, though
running in various channels, as many an old graduate will testify.
The practice at Randall went on. There were sore hearts, but it could
not be helped when the lads who thought they should be picked for the
tentative crews, or for the singles, were passed by. For Mr. Lighton was
impartial, and insisted on only the best no matter at what cost.
Perhaps sorest of all was Boswell, he who had been displaced from what
had come to be regarded as the varsity eight, though, as the coach
pointed out, there might be changes in the Fall. Boswell was ordered
into what was termed the "second" eight, but refused to go.
"I may not row at all," he said loftily to his crony, Pierce. "Or I may
go in the singles."
"I would," suggested the latter. "My word! A man's his own boss in a
single."
"I'll think of it," replied Boswell.
Examinations came, with all their grilling and nerve-racking tendencies,
and were more or less successfully gotten through with by our friends
and their chums. Then came the long vacation.
CHAPTER XIV
OFF FOR CAMP
"See you soon again, old man!"
"Yes, we'll get together in a couple of weeks. I've got to spend some
time with the folks."
"I'll write when I have the camp site all arranged for."
"And don't forget to plan for plenty of grub!"
"I want a soft cot, anyhow."
"Say, what about the girls? I suppose there's no doubt about their
going to Crest Island?" and Sid Henderson, who asked this question,
interpolating it among half a dozen others, as well as amid numerous
interjections, looked anxiously at Tom, as the four chums were saying
good-bye preparatory to dispersing for the vacation.
"Of course they'll go," declared Tom. "I had a letter from Ruth
to-day----"
"You did?" cried Phil. "I'll have to have a little seance with Sis. She
writes to you oftener than she does to me, of late. Tom, you rascal,
take care!" and he shook a warning finger at his chum.
"And hark to Siddie, would you!" mocked Frank. "Sid's so anxious about
the girls that he won't play if they don't come; will you Siddie?"
"I'll play my fist on your nose, you old allosaurus!" cried Sid, as he
made an unsuccessful reach for his tormentor.
Books had been put away in the study of our heroes. The armchairs had
been covered with dust-cloths, as had the creaking old sofa; the alarm
clock had been wrapped in cotton, and put on the shelf. Its tick would
not be heard until September. It would have a vacation, too.
Randall College began to take on a deserted air, but there was still
some activity around the boathouse. The shells were to be kept ready for
use--the eights, the fours and the singles. For Mr. Lighton had urged
all, who could, to come, if only for an occasional spin on the river to
keep in condition.
As we know, our friends had arranged to camp on Crest Island, and from
there, as they had a boat, they could take a run down to Randall, and
get in a four for practice. If they could get four others, and someone
to act as coxswain, they would also row in the eight, they told the
coach.
"An excellent plan," he declared. "It will give us a good crew for the
eight in the Fall, I'm sure."
"The only drawback about Crest Island," said Phil, "is that Bossy is
going there. He'll be an unmitigated nuisance, if I'm any judge of human
nature."
"Especially if he does as he says he will, and takes to practicing in a
single," added Tom.
"But the island is big enough," added Sid.
"Even if the cottage his folks have taken is near the Tylers'," put in
Frank, with a grin.
"Is it?" asked Sid, eagerly.
"It sure is."
"Then he'd better look out!" declared Sid.
"What's the matter? Afraid he'll take your girl?" asked Tom, with a
laugh. But Sid did not reply.
Nothing more had been discovered about the missing jewelry, nor had Tom
and his chums been able to follow the clues which they had stumbled
upon. The torn handkerchief, the empty jewelry box, the shreds of silk,
had been put away, together with Boswell's card. Mendez, the Mexican,
had been seen around Haddonfield several times since Tom and Ruth had
met him on the island, and he seemed to be selling his wares, there
being little need of his remaining on the island as caretaker all day.
Whenever he met Tom, he was very polite, but our hero cared no more for
the swarthy man than he had at first.
"He's altogether too nice," decided our hero, though he realized this
was nothing against the man. Certainly there seemed to be nothing to
point suspicion to him, any more than to Boswell, and the four chums did
not dare make an untoward move. It was too risky, Frank said.
As for the Boxer Hall lads, though some might have held a faint thought
that their Randall rivals were responsible for the loss of the cup
trophies, no one said so in that many words. Still many Randallites felt
that a grim suspicion hung over the college, caused by the unfortunate
fact that Tom and his chums had been first on the ground when the
articles were discovered to be gone from the wrecked boat.
"Hang it all!" exclaimed Tom, as he and his chums were about to separate
for the vacation, to meet soon again, "I wish we could get on the trail
of that stuff, and the man who took it!"
"So do I!" added Frank. "Well, maybe something will turn up this Summer."
As for Ruth, she had successfully kept her secret with Tom. If her girl
friends noticed the absence of her old brooch they said nothing.
Mr. Farson, the jeweler, fretted much over his loss, but it did no good.
He even increased the reward, to no more purpose. It all remained a
mystery. He did not even know as much as the boys did about the affair,
and, for their own reasons, the students kept silent.
Our four heroes dispersed to their homes, to meet warm welcomes there.
Then came preparations for going camping on Crest Island. The Tyler
cottage was opened by some of the servants and put in shape for Summer
occupancy. Madge wrote to Ruth, Mabel and Helen, bidding them get ready
to come when she sent word.
Tom spent a week or two at the shore, "recuperating," as he put it, from
the hard study incidental to the examinations.
"I guess, more than likely, it's to rest from the hard work of pulling
in that shell," said his father, grimly.
Frank Simpson went on a short trip to his beloved California, and Phil
and Sid put in two weeks at various Summer resorts.
Finally the time came to go to camp. Tom, who was in charge of most of
the arrangements, sent out letters to his chums bidding them assemble at
his home, as he was nearest to Randall College.
And, one fine morning, with their baggage gathered, and with their
camping paraphernalia sent on ahead, they departed.
"Off for Crest Island, and the mystery!" exclaimed Tom.
"Not so loud!" cautioned Frank.
"Say, rather," interpolated Sid, "off for Crest Island and--the girls!"
"Hark to the lady-killer!" mocked Phil. "Talk about your Beau Brummels!"
"Punch him for me, Tom," besought the badgered one.
CHAPTER XV
THE OLD GRADUATE
"Say, did you think to bring any spoons, Tom?"
"What about the condensed milk?"
"And say, Tom, this isn't a good brand of coffee!"
"What made you get all canned corn? Why didn't you include some beans,
Tom?"
"Say, if I've got to eat coffee with my fingers I'm going to quit right
now!"
"Look here, Tom! Didn't I say I wanted a soft cot? You've given me one
as hard as a board. I won't stand for it!"
You can easily imagine the scene. The boys had arrived in camp, and were
just unpacking. The tents--sleeping and dining--had been erected after
much labor, and with the aid of Senor Mendez, who courteously offered
his services.
"And for the love of the seven wonders of the world, Tom, what made you
buy this brand of canned chicken?" demanded Sid, who was opening a case.
Tom Parsons put down the blanket he was taking out of a trunk. He strode
to the middle of the tent, put his hands on his hips, surveyed his three
chums, and began:
"Say, look here, you fellows! I've done most of the work around this
outfit. I saw to it that the baggage didn't go astray when you chaps
were trying to flirt with those pretty girls in the train! I ordered all
the eats, and most of the other stuff. I got Mendez to give us a hand,
though none of you wanted me to. I've looked after everything from A to
Z and you fellows have been loafing. And now you jump on me because I
didn't get mock-turtle soup instead of mulligatawny. You don't like the
kind of coffee, and I suppose you'll faint if you don't have condensed
milk.
"Say, don't you want finger bowls? Will you have paper napkins, or
just the plain fringed style? Do you want your shaving water hot every
morning, and what time shall I have the 'bawth' ready? Are your nails
manicured? If not, I guess I can find time to do that. Would you like
silk pajamas, or will linen do? And if there's anything more that you
confounded dudes want in this camp--just get it yourselves--I'm done!
DONE! Do you hear? I'm through!" and, fairly shouting the words Tom
stalked out of the tent and went and sat down on a log near the edge of
Lake Tonoka.
The other three stared at each other in amazement. The rebellion of
their chum had come like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
"Er--what did--what did we do?" faltered Sid.
"Did you ever hear the like?" came from Phil.
"He's mad all right--clear through," spoke Frank. "I guess we have been
rather piling it on."
"It's the first time I ever knew Tom to act like this," said Phil,
soberly.
"He has done a lot of work," put in Sid.
"And we have been finding a deal of fault," added Frank.
"How can we square him?" asked Phil.
"You go out and talk to him, Frank," proposed Sid.
"No, I've got a better scheme than that," came from the Big Californian.
"Let's finish slicking up in here ourselves, go on and get grub
ourselves, and then invite him in. He'll see we didn't mean all we said,
then."
"Good idea," declared Phil.
"We'll do it," agreed Sid.
Thereupon, paying no more attention to the justly sulking lad by the
water's edge, the three chums shortly had the sleeping tent in some kind
of shape. An oil stove had been brought, and on this some coffee was
soon steaming away, while the appetizing odor of ham and eggs wafted
itself over the camp.
Through it all Tom never turned his head, nor did his companions speak
to him. He must have heard what was going on, but he never acknowledged
it. With merry whistles his chums drove away the suggestion of gloom.
"Grub's ready!" came the announcement of Frank, as he walked over toward
Tom. "Wilt your most gracious majesty deign to partake of our humble
fare?" and he dropped on one knee, and offered to Tom, on a plate, a
slice of bread.
For a moment the tall pitcher held out against the envoy, and then a
faint smile broke over his face.
"If you fellows are done finding fault," he said, "I'll come in and
help. But I don't like to do all the work, and then have it rubbed in
the way you chaps did."
"That's right, we did lay it on a bit thick," admitted Frank, contritely.
"And I got a bit hot under the collar," spoke Tom, confessing in his
turn.
"Come on and eat," urged Frank. "The stuff is getting cold. It isn't
such bad coffee after all."
"I paid enough for it," retorted Tom.
And thus the little cloud was blown away. Soon all were eating merrily.
The meal being finished, they began to get the cots in shape, for it
was drawing on to afternoon.
The boys had two large tents, one for eating, and the other for sleeping
in, and lounging during the day. A smaller one served as kitchen and
storeroom.
By evening they were in good shape, and accepted an invitation to take
supper at one of the cottages, the owner of which with his wife and
daughters, had learned that the boys were friends of the Tylers, who had
not yet arrived.
"Well, now for a good snooze!" exclaimed Tom, as they got back to their
tent that night, having spent a pleasant evening with the Prudens.
"Did you bring any mosquito netting?" asked Phil. "If you didn't I----"
"Silence!" warned Frank. "A certain amount of mosquito bites will do us
good--put ginger into us for the rowing game."
"All right--all right!" cried Phil, quickly. "I didn't mean that," and
he looked quickly at Tom, fearing a return of the morning outbreak.
"When are the girls coming?" asked Sid, as he began to get ready to turn
in.
"What do you care?" asked Tom, quickly. "Didn't I see you trying to hold
the hand of that youngest Miss Pruden under the table?"
"Oh, fie!" cried Frank.
"I was not!" cried Sid, indignantly. "She had lent me her ring, and it
was so small I couldn't easily get it off again. She was trying to help
me."
"Say, when you tell 'em, tell 'em good and big!" laughed Tom. "'When are
the girls coming?' Say, you're a nice one, you are, and----"
Tom ducked in time to avoid the shoe Sid threw at him.
"Easy, fellows," cautioned Phil. "There are other people on the island
besides us, and they may want to go to sleep."
"Then make him dry up!" demanded Sid.
"I'll be good," promised Tom. "But when you hold hands don't be afraid
to admit it. I----"
The other shoe came in his direction with such poor aim that the candle
was knocked over, the lanterns not yet being in service.
"Cheese it!" warned Frank. "You'll have the place on fire. Light a
match, somebody."
All began groping about in the dark tent.
"Oh, for the love of tripe!" suddenly exclaimed Tom.
"What's the matter?" asked Phil.
"I stuck my foot in the water bowl!" exclaimed the lad. "It was on the
floor. I'm as wet as a duck."
"Serves you right!" declared Sid vindictively.
"'Be good, sweet lad, and let who will be clever,'" misquoted Phil with
a chuckle.
But finally order was restored, and our friends fell into a deep sleep.
"Well, what's doing to-day?" asked Sid, after breakfast.
"I vote we take a trip down to college, and see if any of the fellows
are there rowing," proposed Frank. "If we can't scare up enough to make
the eight, we can take out one of the fours."
"Second the motion," came from Tom, and the others agreed, too.
They rowed down leisurely, being a bit stiff, not only from their
unusual exertions in making camp, but also because they were out of
practice. But finally Randall was reached, and, to their disappointment,
they found only one or two lads there, practicing in the singles. They
all declined to take a try in the eight, as they were going in for the
sculling races. Anyhow, there would not have been enough for an eight
with a coxswain.
"We'll have to take a four," said Tom, with a sigh. "Frank, you'll have
to steer, as you can do it better than any of us."
A four-oared shell, as I explained, and as doubtless most of you know,
is steered by a mechanical arrangement, worked by the feet of one of the
rowers.
Soon the four chums were pulling down the river, gaining in skill each
moment, as the memory of what Coach Lighton had said recurred to them.
They rowed a good distance, and then drew up at a private float and
got out to stretch their legs. As they were about to put off again, an
elderly man, with a pleasant face, approached and asked:
"From Boxer Hall?"
"From Randall," replied Tom.
"Ah, yes, I noticed you rowing in. I think you might improve your stroke
a little if you would feather differently. You don't turn your hands
quite at the proper time."
"You must be an old oarsman?" said Tom.
"Well, I've been in the game. I used to row at Cornell years ago.
Pierson is my name."
"Are you _that_ Pierson?" cried Frank, remembering the name as that of
one of the best scullers Cornell ever turned out.
"I'm afraid I am," was the smiling answer.
"Say," burst out Sid. "Would you mind watching us a bit, and telling us
our mistakes? We're new at it, as you probably noticed," he went on,
"and Randall is just getting into the water sports. We want to beat
Boxer Hall. Can you give us a few points?"
"Where are you staying?" asked Mr. Pierson.
"On Crest Island--we're camping there."
"So! Well, as it happens, I have friends there, and I have been invited
to spend part of the Summer there. If I come I shall be glad to tell you
what I know of rowing, and coach you a bit. It is the best sport in the
world!" and Mr. Pierson's eyes sparkled as though he would like to get
in the shell himself.
"That will be fine!" exclaimed Tom. "We shall look for you."
They talked a little longer, the old oarsman giving them some good
advice about training. Then he bade them good-bye, and walked off up the
hill leading from the river.
The boys got in the shell again, intending to row to Randall, and then
back to their camp.
As they neared the college float, and noted the activity of the men
building the new boathouse, Sid exclaimed:
"Look who's here!"
"Who?" asked Tom.
"Bossy, by all that's tragic! He's just taking out a single shell. I
wonder if he's going to the island?"
CHAPTER XVI
THE GIRLS
Rowing on up to the float, the four chums took their shell out of the
water just as Boswell got his in. He looked over at them, and nodded in
what he evidently meant to be a friendly fashion, but which he succeeded
in making only patronizing.
"Out for a row?" he asked, needlessly.
"Just a bit of practice," answered Sid.
"And you're going in for the same thing, I see," added Phil.
"Yes, I've gone a bit stale since I was here last. I just came back
to-day, and I thought I'd take a little row before I went up to our
cottage on the island."
"He's going there all right, then," murmured Tom.
"Are you fellows in camp yet?" asked Boswell.
"Yes," replied Frank. "We haven't got settled yet, we'll soon be in
shape." Then, with an effort, he went on: "Drop in and see us--when you
get a chance."
Phil administered an unseen but none the less swift kick to his chum.
"What'd you want to go and do that for?" he asked, in a whisper. It was
safe since Boswell was busy rattling the oars in his shell and could not
hear distinctly.
"I couldn't do any less," retorted Frank. "It would look pretty raw not
to ask him."
"I hope he doesn't accept," murmured Sid, and, the next moment the rich
lad replied:
"Thanks, but I don't expect to get much time for calling. I'm going
to be pretty busy with my sculling, and I expect a friend or two up.
Besides, I never did like a tent. It always seems so musty to me. I much
prefer a cottage."
"Thank the kind Fates for that!" murmured Tom.
Boswell got in the shell, and rowed off, rather awkwardly, the four
thought, but then they had yet to see themselves row, though, truth to
tell, they were becoming more expert every day.
"I'm going to have a professional oarsman coach me," Boswell threw to
them over his shoulder as he sculled off. "I expect to be in good trim,
soon. As long as you fellows didn't want me in the eight, I'm going to
win in the singles, just to show you what I can do."
"We never said we didn't want you in the eight!" declared Frank. "In
fact I thought you did as well at bow as anyone. It was the coach's
doings."
"All right," replied Boswell. "It doesn't matter. I rather think I
prefer this, on the whole. And I'm going to win, too!" he boasted.
"Good! We hope you do!" exclaimed Tom. Then, to his chums he added:
"Come on, let's get back to the island and enjoy it before he starts his
monkey business there. I wonder when his cottage opens?"
"I saw a woman and a man working around there to-day, just before we
left," volunteered Sid.
"Then Bossy's folks must be coming soon--more's the pity--I mean as far
as he is concerned," put in Phil. "His folks may be decent enough, but
he's the limit."
"I suppose he and that English pal of his--Pierce--will be drinking tea
every afternoon at five o'clock," said Tom. "They'll have their cakes
and Young Hyson out on the lawn, and--Oh, 'slush, isn't it fierce! A
bally rotter, dontcherknow!'"
"The Knockers Club will please come to order!" exclaimed Frank, in mock
seriousness.
"Say, I guess we have been piling it on pretty thick," admitted Tom,
with a grin. "Let's get in our old tub, and pull back. It's my turn to
rest this trip."
Laughing and joking, with occasional references to the proper way to
handle an oar, and some talk of the offer of Mr. Pierson to coach them,
the lads rowed back to their camp. They spent the next two days in
getting the place in better shape.
"For exhibition purposes," Sid explained. "The girls might come to lunch
some day."
"Say, he's got girls on the brain!" complained Phil. "Duck him, Tom, you
aren't doing anything."
But Sid discretely got out of the way.
A day later the Boswell family arrived at the island. There were several
servants--almost too many for the simple cottage--and Mr. and Mrs.
Boswell, in addition to their son. It was hard to see from whom the lad
inherited his unpleasant mannerisms, for both his parents were of the
old-fashioned school of gentlemen and ladies, with exceedingly kind
hearts. Boswell had evidently been spoiled, unless he did the spoiling
process himself, which was more than likely.
When Mr. Boswell learned that some of his son's college mates were on
the island, he paid a formal call on them, and invited them to the
cottage. They promised to come--some time.
"When Bossy isn't home, I hope," murmured Sid.
Pierce, Boswell's English chum, arrived that same week, and after
that our friends saw little of the rich lad. He and his friend were
generally off together in a boat rowing or fishing.
Then another personage made his appearance, an athletic-looking man,
whom Boswell introduced as his "trainer." Then began the instruction in
sculling. Tom and the others heard and saw some of it.
"He's teaching him a totally different stroke than we row," said Sid. "I
wonder if it can be right?"
"I'll stick to Lighton's method," declared Frank.
"Yes, for it's the same as that used by Mr. Pierson," added Tom. "It's
good enough for us."
The Cornell oarsman had paid a visit or two to the lads in their camp,
coming from where he was stopping on the mainland, as his friend, whom
he expected to visit on the island, had not yet opened his cottage.
Mr. Pierson gave the boys some good advice, and getting into the shell
several times, practiced what he preached. He had not forgotten his
early skill, and his illustrations were valuable.
"He can pull a good stroke yet," declared Frank, one day, following some
spirited instruction and practice. Mr. Pierson had left, promising to
devote more time to the boys later on.
"He sure must have been a wonder in his day," declared Tom.
It was one morning just after the lads had finished breakfast, and were
getting their camp in shape for the day, preparatory to going for a row,
that Tom made a momentous discovery.
He had been to the spring for a pail of water, and, on his return
he noticed on the porch of the Tyler cottage a number of trunks and
suitcases. Then a flutter of dresses caught his eye, and he heard a
chorus of musical laughter.
"The girls have come!" cried Tom, and he raced for his own camp, as he
had on a pair of old trousers and a disreputable sweater, and wanted to
get in more presentable shape for making them welcome.
"The girls have come!" he cried, springing into the midst of his chums
with such force that he spilled half the water. "The girls have come!"
CHAPTER XVII
AT PRACTICE
"Did you see 'em?"
"Are they all there?"
"What about Helen Newton?"
"Say, where's my brown suit?"
"Has anyone seen my purple tie?"
"Give me those shoes, Sid! Who said you could take 'em, anyhow--my best
ones?" and Phil fairly upset his chum in order to rescue the footgear
that had been taken without his permission.
I presume the reader can understand the meaning of the expressions
which open this chapter. They had to do directly with Tom's startling
announcement, and who said which or what does not matter. Sufficient
to state that Sid, Phil and Frank thus overwhelmed Tom with the above
questions.
"I didn't see any of 'em," went on Tom, when he could get his breath.
"But I heard her laugh----"
"Heard who laugh?" demanded Phil.
"Your sister."
"I thought you said they _all_ came!" reproached Sid.
"So I did, and so they have. Do you think one girl would have four
trunks and four suitcases?" asked Tom, in indignant justification.
"They might--I have known of such," said Frank. "But are you sure
they're all here?"
"Of course. Didn't I hear 'em all laugh? Anyhow, Madge must be here, or
Ruth wouldn't be at the cottage. And if two of 'em are there the other
two are, too."
"That's no reason at all," said Phil, firmly. "This will have to be
investigated. Where's my clean shirt? I'm going to see my sister!" and
he strode into the tent.
"It's the first time Phil was ever so thoughtful of his sister,
fellows. I guess we'd better all get togged up a bit," said Frank, and
the activities, that had begun when Tom came in with the news (which
activities had ceased momentarily while the glad tidings were being
confirmed), were again resumed.
"Glad rags," as the lads slangily designated their habiliments, other
than the ones in which they worked about the camp, were soon being
donned, and a little later the boys were on their way to the Tyler
cottage.
"I wonder how long they're going to stay?" said Sid.
"As long as we do, I hope," said Tom. "There they are!"
"All four of 'em, sure enough," added Phil.
"You were a good guesser, Tom, old man."
"Oh, leave it to your Uncle Dudley!" declared Tom, puffing out his
chest. "Little Willie knows what he's about."
"Hello, boys!" called Madge Tyler, as she caught sight of the advancing
four.
"Welcome to our city," added Ruth, as she threw a kiss to--her brother.
At least Tom said so, when they accused him later of intercepting it,
and Tom ought to know.
"Glad you're here."
"Isn't this place lovely?"
"Where is your boat?"
"Have you a motor?"
"Are you going to invite us to lunch in the tent?"
These questions and comments were bandied back and forth among the boys
and girls, no one caring very much who said what, so glad were they to
see each other, and exchange greetings and experiences.
"We girls just came up this morning," explained Madge. "We didn't wait
for mother, and father has some tiresome business to look after so he
couldn't come. But I just said that Jeanette, our maid, was chaperone
enough, and so we came. I guess the man on the boat thought we had
baggage enough."
"But he was nice about it," added Ruth.
"Yes, after I gave him a quarter," explained Helen.
"Oh, you dear! Did you really tip him?" asked Madge.
"Certainly--he--er--well, he seemed to expect it," and the boys laughed
at her naive explanation.
"Won't you come in?" invited Madge. "It isn't much of a cottage, and we
can't even offer you a cup of tea, for we're all out, and I had to send
Jeanette for some."
"Don't worry about that," remarked Phil.
"We've got all the food we can eat over at the tent," went on Tom.
All entered the charming little cottage, and the boys told of their
experiences since coming to camp, while the girls detailed the
happenings of their journey that morning.
A small steamer, making regular trips about the lake, had left them and
their baggage at the island, which was beginning to be quite a Summer
resort. A new store had recently been built on the place, and provided a
variety of articles, including foodstuffs for the cottagers.
"There's a boat or two with this cottage," explained Madge. "We'll have
to get them in the water to soak up, I suppose, and then we girls will
give you boys some lessons in rowing; won't we, girls?"
"We might try," said Ruth, drily.
"Your boats are in the water, I think," said Sid. "I saw that Mexican
'take-care' man, as he calls himself, at them the other day, caulking up
some cracks."
"That's good," retorted Madge. "I know father wrote on to have this
done, but I've been so busy, getting ready to come here, that I forgot
to ask if it had been attended to. I wish we had a motor-launch, but
father is so old-fashioned, if I must say it, that he won't hear of it."
"Haven't you boys a launch?" asked Helen.
"No," replied Tom, "but perhaps we can hire one," and he looked at Ruth,
who had been trying to signal him when the Mexican's name was mentioned.
"That's a good idea," declared Phil. "We'll see about it this afternoon."
Then Jeanette, the maid, having come from the store with the tea, the
boys took their leave, to allow the girls time to change into more
comfortable and camp-like garments, and also to enjoy their beverage.
"We'll see you after lunch," called Phil.
"We'd ask you to stay," spoke Madge, "but really we haven't quite found
ourselves yet. Later on----"
"Come on over to our tent," invited Sid.
"No, thank you," laughed the young hostess. "Some other time. We have
to unpack our dresses, or they'll get wrinkled."
The boys thought lunch time would never pass, but it did, though they
made a hasty meal of it. Then they hurried back to the cottage, and
a little later four pairs of young persons were strolling in four
different directions over the beautiful island.
"Oh, Tom!" exclaimed Ruth. "I've been just wild to get you alone for a
moment to ask if you've found out anything about my brooch?"
"Not a thing, Ruth, I'm sorry to say. In fact the whole business is at a
standstill. We had some suspicions, but they didn't lead anywhere, and
we're up against a stone wall so far in the game."
"Well, perhaps something may develop," she said with a sigh. "I hope so,
for I'm afraid every day some of my folks will discover that I'm not
wearing the brooch. When I went to bid grandmother good-bye I wore a
large bow tie, so she couldn't see the place where the pin ought to have
been, but wasn't. Isn't it dreadful to be so deceitful?"
"Not at all," Tom hastened to assure her. "It isn't your fault, and, as
you say, something may develop."
They strolled on, as did the others, and the afternoon seemed
wonderfully short.
I note, in looking back over some pages I have written, that I headed
this chapter "At Practice," and really I meant to devote considerable
space to detailing the doings of Tom and his chums in the shell, under
the guidance of Mr. Pierson. But I find that the girls have taken up
such a large proportion of my available space that I have not much left
for rowing matters. And, in fact, the boys found themselves in the same
predicament. After all, I suppose, it is not an unforgivable crime.
Tom and his chums kept promising themselves, from day to day, after the
arrival of the girls, that they would buckle down to hard work in the
shell, but each day saw them over at the cottage as early as decency and
good manners would allow, and the same thing kept them there as late as
possible.
They hired a small gasoline launch, that was continually getting out of
order, and stopping out in the middle of the lake. They had to be towed
in so frequently that they became very well known. But it was all the
more fun.
"There's something about this launch that you don't often find,"
remarked Frank, one day when they had been drifting helplessly about.
"And it's a good thing you don't," added Tom.
"What I meant," said Frank, "was that it never gets monotonous. The same
thing never happens twice."
"I should say not," declared Sid. "Everything on the old tub has
broken one time or another, from the old cups to the piston rings,
and everything from the spark coil to the batteries has given out!
Monotonous? I should say nixy!"
Yet the boys did practice. Frank grew desperate when a week had gone by
without their getting into the shell, and he spoke to such advantage,
dwelling on the necessity of keeping in condition, that the others
agreed with him. So they left the girls to their own devices one
morning, and rowed down to college.
They found quite a number of their chums there, and considerable
practice was going on. Mr. Lighton had paid one of his flying visits and
was giving the lads some instruction.
Our friends told him of Mr. Pierson's offer, and the coach said:
"You could not do better, boys, than to follow his advice. I wish we
could get him to come to Randall in the Fall."
"Maybe he will," suggested Sid. "We'll ask him."
Mr. Lighton said he had word from Bricktop Molloy, and one or two of
the others, that they were getting in some practice during the Summer
vacation.
"I hope we have a good eight when college opens again," he concluded, as
Tom and his chums rowed off in the four-oared shell.
Mr. Pierson was staying on the island now, and for the next few days
he was with the boys considerably, giving them valuable advice. They
kept at practice, setting aside certain hours for it, and manfully
withstanding the temptation of going off on little excursions with the
girls.
So far as solving the mystery of the missing jewelry was concerned, no
progress was made, though the boys talked about it often. The faint
suspicions against the Mexican and Boswell were still maintained, but
that was all.
As for Boswell, he and his English friend and his "trainer," as he
called the athlete, kept pretty much to themselves. Mendez was the same
over-polite Mexican as before. He opened his store, and did a good
business, our friends patronizing him to some extent--partly to get a
look inside his place. But, though their eyes were used to the best
advantage, they saw nothing that would aid them in their quest.
"But I'll get Ruth's brooch back yet!" declared Tom, to himself.
CHAPTER XVIII
"SENOR BOSWELL"
"Shoulders back a little more! Heads up! Don't feather quite so high.
That's all right to do when there are little choppy waves, that would
cause splashing, but in calm water the lower you feather the less you
have to raise the spoon of the oar. Of course don't do any 'riffling.'
That holds back the boat. When I see you in an eight, with a coxswain,
so you don't have to think about steering, I can tell better how you
will do."
This was Mr. Pierson giving some coaching advice to the four boys, who
were out in the shell. He was following them in the launch owned by his
friend, at whose cottage he was visiting.
"I'm wondering if I'll have wind enough for a four-mile race, pulling
even thirty to the minute?" said Sid.
"And we may have to hit it up to thirty-two or three," put in Tom.
"Don't worry about those things now," advised the Cornell graduate.
"They will work themselves out when you get in training. Of course
you're not training now, and that makes a difference. My chief anxiety
at present is to get you in the way of taking the proper stroke, to
teach you how to sit, how to slide in the moving seats, how to bring
your whole weight where it will do the most good, and how to depend on
the toe stretchers. Your wind will take care of itself when you get down
to hard practice. If it doesn't--well, you can't row in an eight, that's
all."
The old graduate glanced sharply at the lads, and, noting a look of
anxiety on their faces, he hastened to add:
"But I'm sure it will come out all right. Don't think about it. Now
then, hit up the stroke a little."
And so he accompanied them over the course, giving them advice almost
invaluable, which they could have obtained in no other way. The boys
appreciated it deeply.
Camp and cottage life on Crest Island was endless delight to the
boys, even with the hard practice they put in occasionally. I say
"occasionally" advisedly, for they did not forget, nor did Mr. Lighton
or Mr. Pierson want them to forget, that they were on their vacations.
Truth to tell, the girls took much of the time of our heroes. And
this was as it should be. We can never be young but once, if I may be
pardoned that bit of philosophy in a story book--a bit that is not
original by any means.
"Well, thank our lucky stars, we don't have to grind away in the boat
to-day!" exclaimed Sid one morning, as he got up ahead of the others,
for it was his turn to prepare breakfast.
"That's right," called Tom, in a sleepy voice from his cot, as he turned
over luxuriously amid the scanty coverings, for the night had been warm.
"I vote we get the launch in running order, if that's possible, and take
the girls off for a picnic."
"Second the motion," exclaimed Sid, "with the amendment that the girls
provide, and put up, the lunch."
"We'll pay for it, if they put it up," said Frank.
"That's better," remarked Phil. "I'll tip Sis off, and I guess they'll
do it."
Behold then, a little later, the eight young persons, lively and gay, in
the wheezy and uncertain launch, voyaging over the lake toward a distant
dell of which they knew, on the mainland, where they proposed to picnic
for the day.
They ate the lunch which the girls had put up in dainty fashion, sitting
on a broad, flat rock near the edge of the lake, with the wind rustling
in the trees overhead, and the birds flitting here and there.
"Isn't it glorious here?" mused Sid.
"Gorgeous!" declared Madge. "It's just a perfect day."
"'O, perfect day!'" began Phil.
"Cut out the poetry," interrupted Tom. "There's a little snake crawling
toward you, old man."
"Oh!" screamed four shrill voices, and there was a hasty scramble, until
the snake was discovered to be only a tiny lizard, which the girls
declared to be "just as bad."
Then came saunterings two-by-two off in woodland glades until it was
time to think regretfully of returning to the island, for the shadows
were lengthening.
It was just as they were about to start off in the little gasoline
launch, which, strange to say, had been behaving wonderfully well that
day, that they saw Mendez, the Mexican, rowing toward them in a small
boat. He seemed in much of a hurry.
"Senors and senoritas!" he hailed them. "Wait a moment, I pray of you."
"Gracious--I hope nothing has happened at home!" exclaimed Madge Tyler,
for her mother was not at the cottage.
"Perhaps it's a telegram for some of us," suggested Ruth. "Oh, dear, I
do hope I don't have to go home."
They all regarded the approaching Mexican curiously.
"Pardon," he began with a smile that showed all his white teeth, "but I
seek Senor Boswell. Is he with you?"
"With us? No," answered Tom. "He doesn't train in with our crowd."
"Most likely he's having tea on the lawn, and talking about 'beastly
rotters,'" suggested Sid.
"Oh, Sid!" exclaimed Ruth. "He isn't such a bad sort."
"Oh, do you know him?" asked Tom, quickly.
"He called one evening," explained Madge, while just the faintest
suggestion of a blush suffused her pretty face. "He and Mr. Pierce."
"They did!" exclaimed Phil, looking keenly at his sister.
"Hush!" she exclaimed. "Silly boy. Don't make a scene!"
"Senor Boswell--is he not here?" went on the Mexican, and there was
anxiety in his voice. "I was inform that he come off on a boat, and in
this direction. I see your launch moored here, and I am of the belief,
perhaps, that he may be here. Is it not?" and again he smiled.
"No, he isn't here, and we haven't seen him," said Tom.
"Pardon, senors and senoritas," said the Mexican, bowing as well as he
could in his small boat. "I shall look farther. I have the honor to bid
you good afternoon," and he rowed away, up the lake.
"What do you suppose he wanted of Boswell in such a hurry?" asked Sid in
a low voice of Tom, as they were getting in the launch.
"Give it up," was the answer, but Tom was doing some hard thinking just
about that time.
CHAPTER XIX
JEALOUSY
"We've got to do some pulling to-morrow," remarked Frank, as they rowed
toward the island. "Mr. Pierson said he'd show us a new wrinkle or two."
"And we want to begin to hit up the speed a bit," added Tom.
"That's right," agreed Phil, who was fussing with the motor, that missed
every now and then.
"But say!" exclaimed Sid. "I thought we were going to take the girls
down to watch some of the other fellows row opposite college to-morrow?"
and there was a rueful look on his face.
"Well, I know we did speak of that," said Tom, "but----"
"The implied invitation is declined with thanks," broke in Ruth. "We
girls simply have to do some house-cleaning to-morrow. The cottage is a
perfect sight, and it's sweet of Madge not to have found fault before."
"Oh, it's nothing of the sort!" declared the young and pretty hostess.
"Don't decline on that account."
"No, don't!" besought Sid.
"But we really must stay home," declared Mabel. "I know we have upset
things terribly, and tossed our belongings about until I'm sure that
poor maid must be distracted picking things up. Besides, Mr. Tyler is
coming up to-morrow and I know your mother will want the place in some
sort of decent shape, Madge. We must stay and help."
"Indeed, yes," echoed Helen Newton.
"Too bad!" declared Phil.
"Besides, it's all you boys' fault that it is so upset," went on Ruth.
"How do you make that out?" demanded Tom.
"Why you're always coming along, begging us to go out with you, and
you're always in such a hurry that we can't wait to pick up things. So
there!"
"Any reason, even if it's a poor one," remarked Frank, drily.
They glided along for some time, and then the motor suddenly stopped.
"Now what's wrong?" asked Frank.
"I knew something would happen if Phil didn't stop monkeying with it,"
declared Tom.
"Monkey yourself!" retorted the lad who had been acting as engineer.
"All I did was to screw the spark plug in a bit tighter, and shut the
pet-cock."
"Then you probably cracked the porcelain on the spark plug, and there's
a short circuit," spoke Frank. "Here, let me take a look, and see what
the trouble is," and as Frank had been successful in times past, when
the others had failed, they made room for him at the motor.
He looked it over a moment, and then, seeing that the switch was on,
gave the flywheel a couple of turns. There was only an apologetic wheeze.
"He knows so much about motors," sarcastically murmured Tom to Ruth.
"He knows enough to turn on the gasoline, at any rate, and not try to
run the motor with what's in the carburetor," snapped back Frank, as
he opened the cock in the pipe leading from the tank in the bow. "Who
started this motor, anyhow?"
"I did," confessed Tom, the tables thus being turned against him.
"Next time turn on the gas," repeated Frank. "It's one of the first
things to do in running a motor-boat, sonny. You may write the word
gasoline twenty-five times before you go to sleep to-night," and all
joined in the laugh against poor Tom.
"Huh! I supposed it was always kept turned on," he said in defense.
"The carburetor leaks a little, so I always shut the gas off at the
tank," explained Sid. "I guess I forgot to mention it."
"And I can easily guess why," spoke Frank, with a significant glance at
the pretty girl beside whom his chum was sitting.
"Well, it's another little wrinkle--one of a number--we've learned about
the boat," spoke Tom, when they were once more under way.
"All good things have to come to and end, I suppose," remarked Sid,
when they had landed and were bidding the girls good-bye. "But we hope
there'll be more excursions."
"You can always ask us--at least as long as we're here," said Mabel.
"Though I'm afraid we'll have to go next week. It's been perfectly
lovely of Madge to keep us this long----"
"Indeed you're not going so soon!" declared the hostess. "Why, you
haven't been here any time at all yet, and when you do go I'll be so
lonesome----"
"So will we!" chorused the lads. "Don't go," and the girls laughingly
promised to stay as long as possible.
True to their determination, the lads went out in the four-oared shell
the next day, with Mr. Pierson in the launch to coach them. He put them
through some stiff practice, and increased the stroke to a number where
the boys were almost on the point of protesting. But they realized that
they needed it, though they were glad to stop when the word was given.
"A few days of that will put you in the way of bettering your wind,"
said the old college graduate, with a whimsical smile. I have spoken of
him as an "old" graduate, but, in point of fact he was not at all an
elderly man. I merely used "old" in a comparative sense.
"I wonder what's the matter with Boswell?" ventured Sid, as they rowed
the shell back to the college float, and prepared to motor back in the
launch. "I haven't seen him out practicing to-day."
"That's right," agreed Tom. "And say, did it strike any of you as queer
the way that Mexican was looking for him?"
"Somewhat," admitted Frank.
"There must be something between them," went on Tom. "I wonder if, after
all, it can have anything to do with the missing jewelry?"
"What makes you think so?" asked Phil.
"I don't know that I do, very definitely. But that Mendez was certainly
anxious to find Bossy, though for what reason I can't even guess.
Wouldn't it be queer if Bossy had found those cups and other things, and
gotten rid of 'em through the Mexican, after he found he had carried the
joke too far?"
"I believe you," replied Frank. "But it's pretty far-fetched to my way
of thinking. I'd hate to believe that any Randall man would be guilty of
such a thing."
"So would I," added Phil.
"Oh, well, I only mentioned it as a supposition," said Tom, in
self-defense. "Anyhow, Bossy sure does practice hard in his single. I
guess that trainer of his knows his business."
"Yes, he's a good trainer," admitted Frank. "I've heard of him, but it's
pretty near the limit for a fellow to have a private trainer. It's too
much like putting on lugs."
"It is that," said Phil. "And I suppose, when we get back in the Fall,
about all we'll hear will be Bossy and his shell."
"I wonder if he has a chance to win?" asked Tom. "They have some expert
scullers at Boxer Hall."
"Well, they ought to have; look how long they've been at it," retorted
Frank.
"I'll be rather glad to get back to college again," went on the tall
pitcher. "This loafing life is good, but I'm anxious to get in the
eight."
"So am I," came from Sid, "but it's sport here," and he looked toward
the island they were approaching, probably thinking of the girls. So far
the four chums had not been able to get five others, one the coxswain,
with them so that they could row in the eight-oared shell. But the four
gave them sufficient practice, Mr. Pierson thought, since, after all,
it was a matter of the stroke, and could be acquired in one craft as
well as in another.
Meanwhile, a little scene was taking place near the Tyler cottage,
that, had our friends beheld it--or, rather one of our friends in
particular--might have caused some trouble.
The girls were kept busy with some light housework, helping Mrs. Tyler
and the maid, after the boys left. Then, having put their rooms in
order they attired themselves in fresh gowns and walked off toward the
water. Near the cottage Boswell occupied, the four young ladies met the
rich lad and his English chum. The two were out for a walk, and, as
the youths stopped to chat for a moment with Madge, whom they had met
formally, she could do no less than halt a moment with the other girls,
who had been introduced to the lads.
"Come down and I'll take you out in my launch," invited Boswell. "I've
just got a new one, and it's quite fast."
"Oh, come on!" cried Ruth, impulsively. "That one Phil and the boys have
is so slow, and something is always happening to it."
"My word! I should say so!" laughed Pierce.
"But we declined an invitation to go out with--our boys," said Mabel
Harrison, in a low voice.
"Oh, well," spoke Ruth. "They had to go to practice anyhow, and we
won't be long. Come on."
It was a delightful day, and the invitation was hard to resist. Behold
then, as a Frenchman would say, behold then, a little later, the four
pretty girls in Boswell's launch, with himself and Pierce making
themselves as agreeable as they knew how. And to give them their due,
they knew how to interest girls, and were deferential and polite in
their demeanor.
"Your pin is coming unfastened," remarked Boswell to Ruth, as they were
speeding along, and he motioned to a bit of lace at her throat--lace
caught up with a simple gold bar clasp.
"Oh, thank you," she answered, as she fastened it, and then she blushed,
and was angry at herself for doing it.
"Where is that lovely old-fashioned brooch you used to wear?" asked
Madge, looking at her chum.
"Oh--er--I wouldn't wear it out in a boat, anyhow," said Ruth, blushing
redder than before. "I--I might lose it. See, wasn't that a fish that
jumped over there!" and she pointed to the left, glad of a chance to
change the subject.
"Yes, and a jolly big fellow, too!" declared Pierce. "Why can't we get
up a fishing party, and take you girls?" he asked. "My word, it would
be jolly sport! We could take our lunch, and have tea in the woods, a
regular outing, dontcherknow."
"That's the ticket!" exclaimed Boswell. "Will you girls come?" and he
looked particularly at Ruth.
"I don't know," she replied and then, in the spirit of mischief, she
added: "I'll ask my brother. Perhaps he'd like to come. He is a good
fisherman."
"Oh--er--it wasn't so much about the fish that I was thinking," spoke
Pierce, a bit dismayed, and then he dropped the subject.
"Are you fond of old-fashioned jewelry?" asked Boswell, in a low voice
to Ruth. "I mean old brooches and the like?"
"Yes--why?" asked Ruth rather startled.
"Oh, I only just wanted to know. I'm a bit that way myself. My mother
has a very old brooch that I gave her. I mean it was old when I came
across it and bought it. I'll borrow it some day and let you see it."
Ruth murmured a polite rejoinder, scarcely knowing what she did say,
and then, as one of the lake steamers approached rather dangerously
close to the launch, there was a moment of excitement aboard both craft,
for Pierce, who should have been steering, had neglected it for the
agreeable task of being polite to Mabel Harrison.
But nothing more than a scare resulted. When matters had quieted down,
the talk turned into another channel, and Ruth was glad to keep it there.
The topic of the brooch, she thought, was a rather dangerous one for
her, since she wanted to keep from her friends, and especially from Tom
and her folks, the knowledge of the missing pin. She was hoping against
hope that it would be found. She wondered what Boswell meant by his
reference, but did not dare ask him.
The ride was a pleasant one, though the girls--all of them--felt that
they had, perhaps, been just a bit mean toward their boy chums. Still,
as Madge had said, Tom and his friends did have practice.
"We better go back now," said Ruth, after a bit. "It has been
delightful, though."
"And the engine didn't break down once," added Helen.
"Oh I don't get things that break," spoke Boswell, with an air of pride.
"But you don't want to go in so soon; do you?"
"We must," insisted Madge, and, rather against their wishes, the boys
turned back.
As Fate would have it, the new launch got to the Boswell dock just as
the craft containing Tom and his chums hove in sight. Their wheezy boat
puffed slowly along, and as it was steered in toward the dock they had
improvised near their tent, the boys saw Boswell and his chum helping
the girls out. Then Boswell walked alongside Ruth, seeming to be in
earnest conversation with her.
"Say, would you look at that!" cried Sid. "The girls were out with those
chaps!"
"And after refusing to come with us!" went on Frank.
"I like their nerve!" declared Phil.
Tom said nothing, but there came a queer look in his eyes.
"Well, I suppose we're not the only fellows on the island," spoke Frank,
philosophically. "We couldn't expect them to stay in, waiting for us to
come back, on such a fine day as this."
"But they said they were going to be busy," objected Sid.
"Oh, well, I guess what they had to do could be dropped and picked up
again, when there was a launch ride in the offing," went on the Big
Californian. "We'll call around after supper and take 'em out. There's
going to be a glorious moon."
"Fine!" cried Sid. But when evening came, and the others attired
themselves more or less gaily, ready for a call, Tom did not doff his
old garments.
"What's the matter, sport; aren't you coming?" asked Sid.
"Nope."
"Why not? Ruth won't want to go unless you're there."
"I don't care. I'm not going. I don't feel like it."
"Oh, come on."
"Nope."
"What shall I tell her?" asked Sid, looking to see that Phil and Frank
had gone on ahead.
"Nothing," and Tom began filling a lantern, this being one of his duties
that week.
Sid stood regarding his chum for a moment, and then without a word, but
with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders, went out.
CHAPTER XX
A STRANGE CONFERENCE
"You missed it, old man; we had a dandy time," remarked Frank, when he,
together with Sid and Phil, drifted into the sleeping tent some time
later.
"That's right, Tom," added Sid. "The cake was good."
"And the lemonade, too," added Phil.
"Um!" sleepily grunted Tom. Or was he only simulating sleep?
"And the girls were jolly," went on Frank.
"And Ruth wanted to know why you hadn't come," proceeded Sid, keeping up
the chorus of description.
"Oh, let me go to sleep," growled Tom.
"Bossy and his chum blew in, but they didn't stay long," added Phil. "I
guess they didn't expect to find us there."
"Was Boswell there?" demanded Tom, sitting up on his cot.
"Sure," retorted Sid, at the same time giving Frank a nudge in the ribs
as much as to say: "There's where the shoe pinches."
"I've got a headache," said Tom, only half truthfully. "I guess that row
in the hot sun was a little too much for me to-day."
"Can we do anything for you?" asked Frank, trying to make his voice
sound anxious.
"No, I'll sleep it off," and turning with his face toward the tent wall,
Tom proceeded to slumber--or pretend to.
It was two days after this when Tom and Ruth met. He had studiously
avoided calling at the Tyler cottage, though the other boys went over
each evening. Tom gave some excuse, and each time Sid and the others
came in at night they would remark about the good time they had had.
"You're missing it," declared Phil, winking at his chums. "Boswell is
filling in your place fine."
"Was he there again?" snapped Tom.
"Sure thing. He and Sis seem to get on well together, though I don't
care for the chap. Still he isn't such a bad sort as I thought at first."
As a matter of fact Boswell had not called since that first evening, but
Phil guessed Tom's secret, and wickedly and feloniously egged it on.
"What's the matter, Tom; why haven't you called?" asked Ruth with
perfec
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