Hillton
Name.     Position.     Age.     Weight.
R. F. Hope     Stroke     17     134
R. M. Taylor     7     18     150
R. Crocker     6     17     165
C. H. Waters     5     16     142
T. Nesbitt     4     16     149
W. H. Cheever     3     17     148
J. Whitman     2     17     147
R. L. Shield     Bow     17     126
S. M. Keene     Coxswain     17     110
            ——     ——
Average for eight           16?     145?
 
St. Eustace
B. Downs     Stroke     18     147
H. L. Price     7     17     142
A. J. Richardson     6     17     145
T. Wells     5     16     162
P. H. Garrity     4     17     161
A. R. Noland     3     16     143
R. F. Gerstner     2     18     139
W. A. Overton     Bow     17     133
D. E. Perine     Coxswain     18     98
            ——     ——
Average for eight           17     146?
 

Trevor read the tables and laid down the copy of the Marshall Morning Reporter with a sigh and stared across the little lawn at the village street. Muggins worried the[249] newspaper for a moment, and then, observing Trevor’s attitude, cuddled up to him in sympathy, and thumped the porch floor with what, had it been in his power, he would have called his tail. The paper fluttered off across the gravel driveway, and he cocked his ears, meditating pursuit; but Trevor’s hand had now found his head; the sun was warm; it was comforting to be rubbed; and so he only blinked sleepily and sat quiet.

Saturday, the 15th of June, had dawned warm and clear. Over the river a little blue mist hung until a strong breeze swept across the water from the west, kicking up quite a rumpus along the eastern shore. The town was already well filled with visitors, among them not a few graduates of Hillton and St. Eustace, who had arrived the preceding evening. The quiet old village was decked in holiday attire, and its shrewd innkeepers and merchants were rubbing their hands in anticipation of the yearly harvest.

Three of the Hillton crew had complained at the breakfast table that morning of having lame backs, while Talbot, a substitute, was clearly out of the question, having no appetite and not a little fever.

“I always said there was malaria in this place,” complained Kirk, “it’s so low. We had some trouble last year, do you remember, Hope? Benson was attacked with fever, although it left him at noon and he was all right again. That’s where St. Eustace has the better of us; she’s[250] used to this place, and we’re not. I believe it wouldn’t be a half bad plan next year to leave coming here until the morning of the race.”

And Trevor, sitting on the edge of the porch, engaged with Muggins’s ears, heard and was comforted. He had awoke that morning after an unrefreshing sleep with a most uncomfortable sensation of goneness and a bewildering heaviness in his head. His eyes seemed tired, as though he had been reading long and hard, his lips were parched, and as the morning went on a feeling of feverishness alarmed him. At breakfast he had forced himself to eat, much against the inclination of his stomach, for fear that Kirk would perceive his condition and keep him out of the boat. He was not used to illness, and was inclined to attribute his unpleasant condition to nervousness. And now Kirk’s words encouraged him; it was quite likely that he had got into a similar condition to that of the unknown Benson; if so it would be all right when noon came; all he had to do was to look cheerful so that Kirk wouldn’t discover his state. So he grinned as broadly as possible, and whistled one of his tuneless tunes. And for a time his indisposition really left him, or very nearly did so, and during the hour of easy work on the river and the subsequent fifteen minutes of starting practice he was able to work well and even brilliantly, and was certain that his illness was past.

The race was down for half-past three. After work in the shell was over and the craft was safe in the little boat-house[251] some half mile from the hotel, the crew and substitutes, with the exception of the unfortunate Talbot, were taken on a long, unhurried walk along the river under the guidance of Kirk, who tried to keep their thoughts as much as possible off of the coming contest. The nervousness that had begun to make its appearance gradually subsided under the soothing influence of quiet country lanes and wood paths, and at twelve the fellows returned to the hotel looking fresh and untroubled.

The hostelry meanwhile had filled with a merry and excited throng of Hillton boys and graduates, and had become a veritable blaze of crimson. Muggins was beside himself with delight; never before had he received so much attention; he welcomed each new arrival with frantic barks of joy, and scampered about from one group to another, his brilliant blanket flashing restlessly hither and thither. Carl and Stewart and Todd and Williams and everybody else, apparently, had come down for the race, and all was tumult and laughter and handshaking. Old Hillton fellows who had not met for a year or more shouted greetings to each other across the corridor or struggled madly through the throngs to clap each other on the back. Into this scene pushed the returning crew, and as their presence was discovered the crowd broke into ringing cheers, and pressed about them, eager for a word with or a look at the youngsters upon whose broad shoulders rested their hopes.

At last, however, they managed to reach the parlor on[252] the second floor, into whose sacred precincts admission was denied to all else. Trevor sank into a chair with a smothered groan. The former indisposition had returned with all its former force, and for a moment he sat dazed and faint. When he looked up he found Dick’s eyes upon him anxiously.

“What’s the matter, chum?&............