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—
