BEFORE THE RACE.
The day of the spring regatta at Lake Whitney arrived at last, and a
perfect day it was—mild, sunny, balmy, and sweet. It seems that the sun,
by some perennial contract, always shines on this day of days at New
Haven. The trees were putting out their bright green leaves, and there
was an odor of sweetness, like the breath of spring, in the air.
The lake was almost as smooth as a mirror. Near the shores there were no
ripples. Out in the middle of the lake a tiny breeze stirred the water
and made it take on a deeper blue.
A vast crowd had gathered and lined the shore of the lake to witness
this contest between picked crews from the four classes. Men were
there—men of all ages—fathers, brothers, and sons.
But pause a moment to observe the pretty girls! Don’t you know that New
Haven on any kind of a fête day seems to be the Mecca of pretty girls?
One finds himself wondering where they all come from. It seems that some
one with an eye to artistic beauty of varying styles must have traveled
over the country, gathering up all the pretty girls to be found, and
then rushed them on to New Haven.
The dresses of the ladies made the crowd lively with touches of color.
Of course, they were disporting the colors of the various classes.
Yale men could be told from visitors and townies. They were discussing
the probable result of the race. The Chickering set had found a
comfortable and sightly spot, and there they were gathered in a body,
waiting for the excitement to begin.
“Weally, felloth,” said Lew Veazie, removing the head of his cane from
his mouth in order to speak, “I believe the juniorth will win thith
wace.”
“I hope so,” said Chickering, “though I shall feel sorry for Merriwell,
who has put so much hard work upon the freshmen. It will be a great
disappointment for him.”
“That’s right!” nodded Gene Skelding, with a harsh laugh, having thrust
back his cap to permit the sun to fall fairly on his beautiful brow.
“It’s going to be a jolt for Merriwell, but I have it straight, the
freshmen can’t win.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand why not,” said Ollie Lord, lighting a
fresh cigarette.
“Why, because it is written on the Book of Fate that they are not to
win,” said Tilton Hull, looking solemnly over his high collar, as a boy
might peer over a whitewashed board fence.
“But that doesn’t explain it to me. Does it to you, chummie?” asked
Ollie, turning to Lew.
“Hawdly,” confessed Veazie. “There mutht be thomething going on that we
don’t know anything about.”
“I only received a hint of it,” said Hull, lowering his voice to a
whisper, which he seemed to shoot upward into the air, his collar held
his chin so high. “We’re willing to let the freshies and the sophs fight
it out. We have done nothing.”
“And if the sophs choose to steal one of the freshman crew, why, that is
none of our business,” said Skelding.
“But it is not honorable!” exclaimed Rupert, with an expression of
horror.
“Don’t let that jar you,” said Gene. “The sophs may do the stealing,
while we’ll do the winning, and Merriwell will get left all round.”
“That ith all I care for,” nodded Veazie. “Oh, I hate that fellow! I’d
like to give him a weal hard hit with the heavy end of my cane!”
Not a great distance from the Chickering crowd were gathered Hodge,
Mason, Hooker, Browning, and Carker. Hodge was looking strangely
worried, though he had nothing to say.
“A glorious day, gentlemen,” said Mason. “Why, it’s like a day in the
South; yes, sah. A perfect day for such a race.”
“But I’ve got an idea something is going wrong,” put in Carker. “I don’t
know why I feel that way, but I can’t help it.”
“Oh, say!” grunted Browning; “do you ever feel any other way? Why don’t
you try to be cheerful and hopeful one day, just for a change?”
“There is too much careless cheerfulness and hopeless hopefulness in
this world,” sighed Greg. “I tell you we are rushing into grave and
terrible dangers, yet sober-minded men of to-day scarcely ever pause to
scan the black storm-cloud that is gathering. Some day it will burst in
all its fury.”
“It’s a thunder-storm this time!” grumbled Bruce. “Well, at least that
is a relief from your tiresome old earthquake, Cark.”
“You are like all the others,” sighed Greg. “Some day you may awaken to
the truth, but I fear it will then be too late. The storm will have
burst. It is coming with the swiftness of——”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, shut up!” growled Hodge, who was watching the
starting-point with an expression of anxiety on his face. “This is a
time to think of something else. I swear I believe there is something
the matter!”
Berlin Carson came rushing up.
“Hello, fellows!” he panted. “Where is Merry?”
They did not know.
“What’s the matter?” asked Hodge. “Has anything happened?”
“Sh!” cautioned Carson. “The sophs have stolen the freshman coxswain.”
“Knight?”
“Yes.”
“The dickens! What will the freshmen do?”
“They are in a mess, and they want advice from Merriwell. That’s why
I’ve been out looking for him. But it’s no use to look farther.”
“Not a bit.”
“It’s time for the race to start now.”
“Past time.”
“Well, we’ll have to let the freshies go it the best they can. I guess
the sophs have got them, all right. It’s too bad, after Merry has given
them so much of his time.”
“This business has been hanging fire right along,” said Bart. “I knew
there were some men who meant that the freshmen should not win, anyhow.
I think Merriwell knew it, too, and I’m sorry he should let those chaps
get ahead of him. They’ll have it to crow over for a month.”
Carson sat down.
“It’ll be the first time Frank has been tripped up,” he said.
If any one of them had turned about and looked behind them at this
moment he might have seen two fellows who disappeared into a thick mass
of shrubbery, amid which they met.
“The trick is done,” said one. “That’s why there is a delay about the
start. Give me the notes you hold against me, Snodgrass.”
“Wait a little, Arnold,” said Ben Snodgrass. “I’ve ceased paying in
advance since I forked over twenty-five plunks to Buster Bill, and he
failed to carry out his part of the bargain.”
“He did the best he could. It wasn’t his fault.”
“Yes, it was.”
“How?”
“I warned him what Merriwell was, but he sneered at college athletes.”
“And Merriwell literally whipped him and his whole gang.”
“That’s what Starbright reported. Said he had five of them laid out at
once.”
“Well, Merriwell will meet defeat, after all, for Earl Knight is ten
miles from here at this minute, safely held under lock and key till the
race is over. I know that, Snodgrass; so you may as well fork over the
paper.”
“You’ll get the paper, all right, after the race.”
“If the freshmen win, it’s not my fault. I’ve carried out my part of the
agreement by leading Knight into the trap.”
“If the freshmen win without Knight, you’ll get your money; but they
can’t do it, for there isn’t another man who can take Knight’s place and
fill it as he did. People got over sneering at Knight as a coxswain. He
was the great man of the crew, for, somehow, he put spirit and life and
confidence in them.”
“And he could steer.”
“He was an expert. Oh, yes, you’ll get your paper after the race! What’s
that? Listen!”
A shout came from the shore.
“The race has begun!” exclaimed Arnold.
Snodgrass did not pause to say a word, but made a break for the shore.