THE RACE. 115 



The oars flashed in the water, and then it seemed to Frank 

 as if the other crew were fast drawing away from them. He 

 clenched his teeth and threw all his power into the stroke, 

 pulling with every muscle of his body from his scalp to his 

 toes. The river was white with the foam churned by the oars. 

 There seemed to be a deafening noise of rushing water and 

 rattle of oars in the rowlocks. Marston's jersey had been 

 hung on a nail, and this had caused a projection in it at the 

 back of the neck. On this Frank fixed his eyes, neither 

 looking to right or left of him for fear he should make the 

 boat roll and lose time. Then out of the corner of his eye 

 he saw that he was opposite number two in the rival boat, and 

 he knew that they were gaining. Another dozen strokes and 

 they were clear. Then Marston eased a bit, and the boys got 

 into a little better time. Their coxswain tried to take the water 

 of the other boat, and thus nearly caused a foul at the bend in 

 the river, but Marston shook his head at him and he steered 

 his own course. 



Frank had now lost his nervousness, and felt pretty comfort- 

 able and able to take a little notice of what was passing on 

 the banks, where a small crowd was running at the top of its 

 speed abreast of them ; a noise which had been humming in 

 his ears resolving itself into the eager shouts of the partisans 

 of the rival crews. 



Dick was well in advance, saying, " Well rowed, number three ; 

 splendidly rowed, Frank ; " and Jimmy was a little way behind 

 him shouting as excitedly. Frank for a time fell into the error 

 of thinking that he was doing the real work of the boat, and 

 began to row somewhat too violently, when a warning voice 

 from the bank cried out " Steady, steady number three ! " and 

 that recalled him to himself. 



They were now in the straight reach, and in sight of the 

 winning-post, and their opponents were steadily gaining on 

 them. " Why doesn't Marston quicken ? >? thought Frank 

 impatiently ; but his stroke knew what he was about, and he 

 kept on steadily until the boats were level once more. Frank's 

 hands were becoming numbed, for he was so afraid of slipping 

 his oar that he grasped it more firmly than was needful. His 

 wind was going too, and his tongue seemed swollen and clove 

 to the roof of his mouth. He ventured a side glance at 

 number three in the other boat, and was relieved to find that 



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