"Don't hang back when I call for the spurt," added the coxswain.
"Ready for the eight! Ready for the eight!" again came the summons.
"Come on!" ordered Frank once more, looking over to where Tom and Boswell were standing, apart from the others.
"Get a move on, Parsons" directed Dutch. "If we win you'll be the first over the line, being in the bow. Come on." Tom had again been made bow oar.
"No, wait a minute!" implored Boswell. "I want to say something, Parsons."
"Won't after the race do? I can't listen now. Besides I've got to give Ruth"
"It's about her I want to explain. Hang it, man, it won't take a second."
"Is Boswell in there?" called someone at the door of the dressing room.
"Yes—yes!" eagerly assented the rich lad.
"There's a fellow out here wants to see you," went on one of the rubbers. "Some sort of a foreigner. Says you told him to come here and"
"Yes! Yes! Let him in!" cried Boswell. "It's someone I want to see!"
There was a little stir about the doorway and a man strolled in.
