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213
THE BOAT RACE

shrilly. “They’re still lapping us! It’s a great race, fellows; clinch her right here! Stroke—stroke—stro— Hi! Hi! We’re leaving ’em—they’re not lapping us any more—four’s splashing—and stroke—look at stroke!—No, don’t look at him, keep on rowing, keep on. Keep—”

“What’s the matter?” Durant and Edward jerked the question out in the same breath, and in that instant there was a sudden outburst from St. Timothy’s compared to which all the cheers heretofore had been but as melancholy ululation.

“He’s groggy!” shrieked Gardner through the megaphone. “Their stroke’s groggy! He was splashing—their coxswain’s throwing water on him—he’s slumped on his oar—no, he ’s sitting up again—yes, he’s quit—he’s quit—look, they’ve all quit! We’ve rowed ’em down, we’ve rowed ’em down— Hi-i-i-i!”

There was no keeping eyes in the boat then, least of all for Edward. Amid the wild, delighted shouts from the St. Timothy’s shore,