The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Eight-Oared Victors, by Lester Chadwick This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Eight-Oared Victors A Story of College Water Sports Author: Lester Chadwick Release Date: March 24, 2013 [eBook #42403] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS*** E-text prepared by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://archive.org/details/eightoaredvictor00chad cover 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 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THE FINISH LINE WAS BUT A HUNDRED FEET AWAY. “DID YOU BOYS TAKE ANYTHING FROM MY BOAT?” ASKED THE MAN. “OLD JAKE BLASDELL!” MURMURED TOM, IN A WHISPER. THEN ONE OF THE LATTER TUBS COLLIDED WITH THAT OF DUTCH. 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. [1] [2] [3] [4] “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.” [5] [6] [7] “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.” [8] [9] [10] [11] “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 [12] [13] [14] [15] 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 [16] [17] [18] [19] 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 [20] [21] [22] [23] 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 [24] [25] [26] [27] 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. [28] [29] [30] “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 [31] [32] [33] 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 [34] [35] [36] [37] 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. [38] [39] [40] [41]