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THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS

about my lost brooch. The other day I had on the new pin I bought to take its place, and he stared at it without making a remark. But, oh, Tom! I wonder if we'll ever find it?"

"It doesn't look so—not now," replied Tom, mournfully.

"Never mind," she consoled him. "We did our best."

"And lost out by a narrow squeak," thought Tom to himself, recalling the pawn tickets and other clues that had gone for naught. The police had not been able to get a trace of either Mendez or Blasdell, nor had the missing pawnbroker been found.

Finally the great day came. The last practice had been held, the lads, not only of Randall, but at the rival colleges, were "trained to the minute." The coaches had made their last appeals.

"Well, fellows, to-morrow tells the tale," said Frank to his seven chums, on the night before regatta-day. They had all met in the gymnasium for a final conference with Mr. Lighton, and had partaken of a light lunch.

"I'm as nervous as a cat," declared Sid.

"Don't you dare be!" exclaimed the captain of the eight. "But if you must be—be it now, and steady up for to-morrow. Now off to bed, and everybody sleep soundly."