him justice he had trained hard and well, and had been faithful. He was not a favorite, chiefly because he boasted so much, and talked so incessantly of his "private trainer," and other "possessions."
"I'm going to get a handkerchief for my neck," explained Boswell, as he approached his locker. "The sun's hotter on the back of my neck than I thought it was."
Tom passed on, paying no more attention to the single sculler. The tall pitcher was chiefly concerned to see that Dutch did no more "cutting up," and dropped the horesplay with which he was wont to amuse himself at all times.
"His monkey business may cost us the race," thought Tom, a bit angrily.
But Housenlager managed to contain himself, and was soon in dry rowing togs again. He and Tom lingered in the dressing rooms of the boathouse until someone called for the loser of the tub races to come out. Tom followed slowly, and, as he did so, he passed Boswell, who was restoring some of his garments to the locker, having tied a silk handkerchief about his neck. It was the same gaudy-hued one that had a strip torn from it, and, at the sight, Tom's memory went back to the hut on Crest Island, to Ruth's lost brooch, and to the robbery.
"Well, I hope we get off soon," remarked the rich lad. He was stuffing something into the
