“LORD STEEREM,” THE COXSWAIN.
BILLINGS charged his companion to say nothing of the scheme for playing
a trick upon Ben Watkins that his fertile brain was busily hatching,
and Myles promised that he would not. It was easy to keep this promise,
seeing that he had no idea what the scheme was, for the other did not
divulge his plans, and Myles was left to imagine what he pleased. He
was, of course, obliged to announce to all the other reporters his
failure to have the obnoxious notice removed, and they at once began to
prepare indignant dispatches to their respective papers concerning it.
In the meantime, leaving Myles in his room at the hotel writing a
detailed description of the X—— crew, their boat, style of rowing,
etc., which, of all the reporters, he alone was able to do, Billings
was flying about the city and displaying an amount of energy wonderful
to behold in one of his temperament. At the same time his movements
were veiled with such secrecy that no one for a moment suspected what
he was up to. He visited a milliner’s, where he procured a quantity of
broad black ribbon and a yard or two of blue silk. All this he took to,
and left with, a local artist, with whom he held a short consultation.
He next went to a certain wharf, at which lay a handsome,
saucy-looking, steam launch, just arrived from New York. As the
press-boat, in which it was intended that all the newspaper men should
follow the race, was notoriously slow, and it was certain she would not
get within half a mile of the finish, the _Phonograph_ had provided
this swift craft for the especial use of its own reporters. This had
been kept a secret, and no one, except Billings and the captain of the
launch, knew to whom she belonged or why she was there.
After a talk with this captain, that seemed to afford the latter much
amusement, Billings engaged a row-boat and was pulled off to one of the
many fine yachts lying in the harbor. While he was gone the captain of
the launch called his engineer and the two men who formed his crew,
and took them to a hat-store in the town.
Billings spent an hour on board the yacht. When he left he carried a
bundle of something, and his face expressed the liveliest satisfaction.
He took this bundle to his elegant apartment in the hotel, and then sat
down with Myles to prepare his dispatch. After writing steadily for
more than an hour with his usual marvellous rapidity, he read to his
companion an article on the X—— crew and its recent action, so bright
and witty, and placing them in such a ridiculous light, that at its
conclusion the latter was sore with laughter.
When the New York papers reached New London the next morning, which was
that of the day before the great race, the _Phonograph_ immediately
became so popular that its entire edition was quickly sold at more than
double the usual price. In it Billings’ humorous article on the X——
College men set everybody to laughing. Myles’ detailed description of
all the crew had done, and hoped to do, was proof to the public that
their exclusion of reporters had failed of its intended object. Besides
this, the _Phonograph_ contained another exclusive bit of news that
excited a lively interest. It was only a paragraph, and read as follows:
“It is reported that Lord Steerem, of England, the famous Oxford
coxswain, may be expected to reach New London to-day. His lordship,
who is about to cruise in American waters in his splendid steam
yacht _Happy Thought_, takes the liveliest interest in our ‘Varsity’
boat-racing. He has expressed such an ardent desire to witness the
event of to-morrow that he will probably come directly to this place
before touching at any other American port. Of course the college men
assembled here are full of curiosity to meet so able an authority on
all matters pertaining to boat-racing, and he will undoubtedly be
warmly welcomed at the head-quarters of the respective crews.”
The reporters of the other papers, in which this interesting item had
not appeared, besieged Myles and Billings for further information
regarding his lordship and his expected arrival. As neither of them had
any to give, their questioners gradually dispersed, each determined to
be the first to secure an interview with the distinguished foreigner.
Some of them went down the harbor in row-boats, and others haunted the
wharves, while some even drove down to the Pequot House, on the chance
that the English yacht might stop there before proceeding up the river.
They were all doomed to disappointment; for up to two o’clock nothing
had been seen of the _Happy Thought_.
It had been arranged that at this hour the press-boat, taking such
reporters as wished to go, should steam up the river for a last look
at the course and the quarters in which the crews were spending a
day of idleness and complete rest. At two o’clock, therefore, all
the reporters ceased for a time to watch for the English yacht, and
hastened aboard the press-boat, each being afraid to stay behind lest
the others might get hold of something he would be sorry to miss.
At Billings’ suggestion Myles went with the rest, but his fellow-worker
remained behind, claiming that he had important business to attend to.
He began to attend to it, with an activity that would have amazed his
companions had they been on hand to witness it, the moment he was left
alone.
While he was thus busy the press-boat, with its load of jolly
passengers, steamed slowly and heavily up the river. After half an
hour of laborious puffing and snorting, as it drew near the head of the
course and came within sight of the quarters, somebody on board called
out:
“Hello! Here’s a lively little fellow coming up behind us. It must be a
launch from one of the big yachts.”
All eyes were instantly directed toward the slender craft that, with
polished brass-work gleaming in the bright sunlight, and gay colors
flying at stem and stern, was overhauling them so rapidly that they
seemed to be anchored. The curiosity with which they watched its
approach was changed to incredulous amazement as it shot past them, and
they could decipher the private signal that fluttered above its bows.
It was a burgee of blue silk on which in letters of gold they read
the name _Happy Thought_. The same name appeared on the black bands
encircling the jaunty straw hats of its crew. Could Lord Steerem have
arrived? It must be so. Yes, there was the flag of the Royal Yacht
Squadron flying from the after jack-staff, and, in the glass-encased
pilot-house they caught a fleeting glimpse of a slight, dark-mustached
figure, clad in yachting uniform.
That must be Lord Steerem himself. But how could he have given them the
slip? How aggravating that he should have arrived just at this time.
“Hurry up, captain! Crowd on steam, engineer! Never mind your boiler.
We mustn’t lose sight of this fellow now. The whole country is anxious
to learn of his movements. Who is he? Why, a swell from over the water.
An English lord. An Oxford coxswain. The most important personage to
arrive in America for many a day!”
So the press-boat puffed and labored harder than ever, while the
excited reporters crowded forward in their anxiety not to lose sight of
the swift launch cleaving the waters ahead of them like an arrow. They
bore the bow of their boat deep into the water and lifted her stern
high in the air in their eagerness to secure the best places from which
to see, and the poor old craft almost came to a stand-still. Still they
yelled: “Faster—faster, captain! Pile on your steam, engineer!”
At last the dainty launch dashed up in front of the X—— College
boat-house. Her engine was stopped, reversed, and she lay motionless
beside the float. Then a slightly built figure in glittering uniform
stepped from her and sauntered toward a group of the crew who were
watching him curiously.
From them Ben Watkins, the captain, stepped forward, and to him the
stranger handed a card bearing a gorgeous crest and the inscription
“Lord Steerem, Brasscheek College, Oxford.”
Ben had read the morning _Phonograph_ and knew this distinguished
arrival was expected, but to have the honor of his first visit was
almost too good to be true. It was overwhelming, and he hardly knew how
to frame a proper speech of welcome.
“I am sure we are very glad to see you—that is, I mean you have done
us a great honor, Mr.—I mean your lordship. Will you step up and look
at our quarters?” he finally managed to say.
Ben Watkins was a splendid oarsman; nobody could deny that, but he was
nothing of a society man, and to have a real live lord on his hands was
almost too much for him.
“Aw, yes,” replied Lord Steerem, with a most affected drawl. “Don’t
care if I do. Queer old crib of a place, though.”
“Yes, it is pretty bad,” Ben hastened to answer, though until that
moment he had thought the X—— quarters about as comfortable as
they could be made. “We have hard work to put up with them, and shall
probably build a club-house of our own before next year. I suppose your
quarters on the English Thames are very fine, Mr.—I mean Lord Steerem?”
“Aw, yes. Each crew there has a castle to itself, you know. But, I
say,”—here his lordship carefully adjusted a single eye-glass, making
an awful face in his efforts to keep it from dropping off—“what a
beastly queer go that is, don’t you know!”
He had stopped and was staring at the notice over the front gate.
“You don’t mean to tell me that those cads from the noospapers actually
try to force their way in here?”
“Oh, yes, we are bothered to death with them,” replied Ben. “Don’t you
find the same trouble on the other side?”
“Aw, no. We keep a lot of bobbies on hand, and any noospaper fellah
would be arrested at once if he came anywhere near the quarters. It
would make the whole thing too beastly common, don’t you know, if we
should let ’em find out every thing about us before the race.”
Ben was somewhat staggered by this; but of course his lordship must
know what he was talking about, so he only said: “I wish we could do
the same over here,” at the same time knowing very well that he did not
wish any such thing.
Lord Steerem was shown all over the quarters; he inspected the
racing-shells in the boat-house, was introduced to the other fellows,
some of whom did not seem to think so much of the honor as did Ben
Watkins, and finally expressed a desire to see the crew take a short
spin on the river, that he might compare American with the English
style of rowing.
This request was of course granted, and when the shell was in the water
and the men had taken their places, Captain Watkins asked as a great
favor that the famous coxswain would go with them and steer.
“Aw, yes, with pleasure,” replied his lordship. “Am a little rusty, of
course, but I may be able to give you a pointer or two, don’t you know!”
The crew did not think that the imported coxswain steered as well as
their own, who had been left behind. He also found so much fault with
the boat, and criticised their manner of rowing so sharply, that the
spin was cut short, and within ten minutes they were back at the float.
All this time the press-boat had hovered near, and its passengers
had taken full notes of these proceedings for the long articles they
intended to write concerning them. It seemed to Myles Manning that
the noble coxswain was an awful duffer at the business of steering a
racing-shell. He wished Billings were there to enjoy the performance
with him; but he held his tongue and saw all that he could.
Lord Steerem noticed the curiosity that his appearance seemed to excite
on the press-boat, and he now asked who those “fellahs” were.
“Oh, they are only a lot of reporters,” answered Ben Watkins,
carelessly. In his heart he was glad enough to feel that the press
of the whole country was certain to be informed of the honors being
showered upon him and his crew by this visit of a foreign nobleman.
“Aw, by the way!” exclaimed his lordship, with a sudden effort of
memory, “where’s Manning? I heard before I left the other side that
your captain’s name was Manning, don’t you know!”
“Manning? Oh, he has left college, and gone on some paper or other
as a reporter,” answered Ben Watkins. “I shouldn’t wonder if he was
out there on that boat now,” he added, with the expectation that his
lordship would be so disgusted at this intelligence as to take no
further interest in Manning.
To his amazement Lord Steerem expressed great pleasure at learning that
the person for whom he had inquired was so near at hand. He even went
so far as to say that, from all he had heard on the other side, he
believed Manning to be the only man in this country who really knew how
to row. Then, declaring that their late captain was the person of all
others whom he particularly wished to meet, he bade his entertainers a
curt farewell, and, springing aboard his launch, ordered the captain to
run out to the press-boat.
As this craft was but a short distance from the X—— float, a few
turns of the screw sent the launch alongside of her, and its captain
inquired if a gentleman named Manning was on board.
When Myles was pointed out to him he presented Lord Steerem’s
compliments and asked if Mr. Manning would kindly come on board the
launch for a few minutes, as his lordship had something of importance
to communicate to him in private.
Greatly wondering at this, and not at all desiring to meet Lord
Steerem, but thinking that he might possibly obtain some facts of
interest for his paper by so doing, Myles complied with this request.
In the meanwhile the other reporters were gazing eagerly at the launch,
noting the trim appearance of her crew, and trying to get a good
look at Lord Steerem, who was partially concealed within the little
pilot-house.
The moment Myles stepped on board the dainty craft she was cast loose
from the press-boat, and as she began to move ahead at full speed her
colors were hauled down. A moment later an American yacht ensign was
run up on the after jack-staff, while from the one at the bow a broad
silken banner inscribed in large golden letters, _The Phonograph_, was
flung to the evening breeze. This name also appeared, as if by magic,
on the black ribbons that encircled the new straw hats of the crew.
At the same instant Lord Steerem stepped from the pilot-house, and,
snatching the dark mustache from his face, exclaimed in the well-known
voice of Billings, the _Phonograph_ reporter:
“Good-bye! Ta-ta! Must be off to the other side, don’t you know!”
An angry yell, a howl of derision, and finally a hearty cheer, burst
from the reporters on the press-boat as they realized the abominable
hoax of which they were the victims. On the float, from which Ben
Watkins and his men also witnessed and fully comprehended the whole
scene, a dead silence reigned. Their mortification was too great to
find a fitting expression just at that moment, and it was probably on
account of it that they lost the race the next day—for lose it they
did by a boat’s length.
As for Myles, his astonishment was only equalled by his admiration for
Billings’ genius and the admirable self-possession with which he acted
his part. He heartily congratulated his companion as they sped down
the placid river, followed by the clumsy press-boat and its shouting
passengers.
“Lord Steerem,” as he was called for many days, had no difficulty
in obtaining the forgiveness of his fellow-reporters, for they were
only too glad that one of their number had thus got even with the
ungentlemanly captain of the X—— College crew.