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.
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