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THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
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Her own college colors slipped from her dress unheeded, and there was disclosed the tiny knot of Randall's maroon and yellow.

"Ruth!" expostulated Mabel, as she pointed to the traitorous hues.

"I don't care!" replied Ruth, as her hand went to where her restored brooch was at her throat.

"Who's ahead?" demanded Helen Newton, as Madge peered through the glasses.

"Fairview!"

"What?"

"She is! She is! Oh, girls, Fairview is going to win!"

"Who—who is second?" demanded Mabel.

"Randall!" came the reply.

Then there was silence. The girls looked at one another. What they thought, who shall say?

On came the three shells. The cheers increased. There was a din of horns and rattles. The band played madly—no one knew what the tune was—and cared less.

"Steady all!" cried Jerry, as he noticed a tendency to quicken. "Steady all!"

On came the Randall shell. Just a little to her rear was Boxer Hall, struggling desperately and with breaking hearts to offset the disadvantage of overtraining and over-confidence. For that is just what it amounted to. It looked hopeless for them now.