CHAPTER XXX

A CLOSE FINISH

"Come on now, fellows, hit her up again! All together and I want every man to sing! Ready now!" and Bean Perkins, the official cheer-leader, the "shouter" of Randall, signalled with his megaphone to his cohorts who were lined up near the boathouse, in and around which the various crews or single-shell men were gathered. "Tear it out now!" commanded Bean, and that glorious old Latin song--"_Aut Vincere, Aut Mori!_"--"Either We Conquer or We Die!" welled out over the river. It was the song that, time and again, had urged Randall on to victory. Would it once more?

"When are we going to start?" asked Tom, as he walked back and forth on the float, clad in rowing togs, as were a score of others, for a number of substitutes had been provided.

"Don't get nervous now, old man," advised Frank. "The shell will be in the water soon, and then we'll go down to the starting point. They're going to run off all the other races first, you know. We're last. We've got more than hour yet. Better get on a sweater and a blanket, you might be chilly. You fellows do the same thing," he commanded, to his crew.

"I wish we were going in first--and get it over with," said Sid. "This waiting----"

"Say, cut it out!" cried Frank. "If you fellows want to have a case of nerves go off by yourselves somewhere. I want to watch the other races."

"I think our fellows have a good chance in the four," said Dan Woodhouse.

"We've got a good chance in everything--do you hear that, me boy?" cried Bricktop, in his rich brogue. "We're going to win everything! Just because you're in the eight you mustn't be selfish."

"I'm not, only----"

"Here comes our four!" interrupted Frank. "A cheer for 'em, boys!" and the echoes vibrated as the rallying cry went forth.

"Come on now, fellows," cried Bean, dancing about, the colors of Randall on his megaphone fluttering in the wind. "All yell--

"We can row you on the water, We can race you on the land. We can wallop you at football And at baseball beat the band!

"That's us--Randall!" and the song and cry sent the members of the four-oared crew rejoicing on their way. They were Joe Jackson--Jerry's twin brother--Bert Trendell, Pete Backus and Sam Terry.

Early in the season Bean Perkins had been picked for the four, but he had not made good. Anyhow, he declared, he could help Randall more with yelling than any other way, and many agreed with him, for Bean was certainly a "shouter."

The river presented a gay scene. It was fairly covered with boats, until it seemed an impossibility that a race could be held. But the course had been marked off, and soon the boats of the officials would patrol the water-pathway and clear it.

Owing to the different lengths of the various races, several starting points had been selected, and the races had been timed so that the crowds could get from one to the other to watch the beginning if they desired. Of course the eight-oared race was the longest--three miles in this case, since the course of the river, narrowing as it did at several points, did not offer any longer course at any place available to the colleges. And three eight-oared shells take up considerable room abreast.

Launches, rowboats, and a sailboat or two, made up the craft holding the spectators. In addition the banks of the river, for a mile or more, were gay with those who had come to witness the aquatic sports. The finish of all the races was to be at the Randall boathouse. This had been decided by lot, and our friends had been lucky. They were glad, too, since they could offer the hospitality of their new building to their rivals. And, in a way, Fairview and Boxer were glad, as their boathouses were rather ancient, and could accommodate only a comparatively few guests, while Randall's was large and roomy.

Fairview and Boxer Hall had their crews or individual rowers nearly all assembled. A few were not yet on hand, and some of the shells had not yet arrived. But all was in readiness for the three-cornered four-oared shell contest.

"Say, who's going to win?" challenged Tom of Ruth, for the girls, as you may well suppose, had been provided with choice places by our friends, where they could see all the finishes well.

"Who's going to win?" repeated Madge Tyler. "Why, we are, of course! See our colors?" and she flaunted them in Tom's face.

He looked at Ruth, and beneath a bow of the ribbon of the hues of Fairview, Tom caught a glimpse of his own college colors--a tiny bow. Ruth saw his glance, smiled and--blushed.

"You may win some, but the eight comes to us!" declared Sid.

"Oh, aren't we the sure ones, though!" mocked Helen Newton.

"Wait until it's all over," advised Mabel Harrison.

"They're going to start!" suddenly cried Madge, as the three four-oared shells moved off down the stream.

"No, they're only going to the starting point," said Frank. "This is only a mile race, and they decided to row down to it instead of being towed, so as to get a little warm-up practice. I thought it would be a good thing for our crew to row down to the start, but Mr. Lighton says he has provided a launch for us, and the shell will be towed."

"I wish it was all over," murmured Tom.

"So do I," agreed Ruth, in a low voice.

"Come on now, boys! Another song!" demanded Bean Perkins, and the strains welled forth.

"Three cheers for Boxer Hall!" came the demand, and it was given with a will.

"Three big ones for Fairview!" called an adherent of that co-educational institution.

The four-oared crews, selected after much elimination work, were approaching their starting point. They were out of sight of those at the boathouse now, and it would be a little time before they appeared, rowing to the finish line.

The band began to play. There was gay laughter and talk, and some nervous walking about by those lads who were to race next. The course had been cleared, though now and then some craft would trespass on it, to be hustled out of the way by the official boats.

It seemed an almost interminable time before the shout sounded:

"Here they come!"

There was a craning forward by all. Many who had fieldglasses used them. Ruth produced a pair.

"Who's leading?" begged Tom, in an agony of doubt.

"Fairview!" she replied.

"No, really?" and he almost grabbed the binoculars from her hands. "That's right," he admitted, grimly. "But our boys are pulling strong."

"If they can only win!" breathed Sid.

"Keep still!" commanded Phil, whose nerves, as were those of his chums, were at a tension.

Cheers began to drift along the shore, coming from the crowds lining the banks.

"Randall has pulled up!" cried Sid. "Our boys are rowing strong!"

"They've got a ways to go to finish," murmured Tom. "Oh, if they can last it out!"

Randall had a good lead now, and it was seen that Fairview was splashing badly. It developed later that two of her four-oared crew were overtrained--they could not stand the heart-breaking strain at the finish.

"Come on, you Randall! Come on!" was the cry.

"Boxer's creeping up!"

"No, Randall's taken a spurt!"

Conflicting were the cries. The boats were see-sawing now. They were getting nearer and nearer to the finish line. The crowds leaned forward. Pandemonium broke loose. All three colleges were being cheered.

"It's going to be a tie!" yelled Phil, as he pointed to the Boxer and Randall shells, now almost bow and bow. "A dead heat! Fairview is out of it!"

"Come on, boys!" implored Tom, stretching out his hands as though to pull their shell forward.

There came a momentary hush. Then a great roar broke out.

"Boxer! Boxer Hall wins! Wow, look at that spurt!"

And, with sinking hearts, our friends watched their rival's shell dart over the line, a winner by a bare quarter of a length--but still a winner.