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THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS

As for Fairview, she had maintained the lead she had unexpectedly gained over Randall, and the eager—almost bursting—hearts in the boat hoped that the co-educational college could row it out unto the end. But there was no disguising the fact to themselves that they were rowing against such a rival as they had never before met.

For a moment after Jerry had given the word to increase the stroke, his chums thought that he would keep them on that for a hundred yards or so, and then hit up the pace still faster. But he did not. Instead, coolly and calmly, he glanced critically at the Fairvlew shell, and kept on at the same rate.

"Hang it all, why doesn't he give the word to spurt?" thought Frank, as his broad back rose and fell to the measured rhythm. "We can do it!"

But Jerry was a wise little coxswain. Not for nothing had he spied out the course, so that he knew every foot of it, and by marks previously noted, he could tell exactly how far they were from the finish mark.

Nearer and nearer to it came the eight-oared shells. Boxer Hall was struggling hard to pull up, but for once she had met her match—two, in fact, for it was easy now to see that the race, barring accidents, lay between Randall and Fairview.

"And, oh! May we win!" prayed Tom and his