CANDIDATES FOR THE CREW
Roy Taylor’s work was apparent when on the following Tuesday afternoon
the candidates for the crew reported in the rowing-room at the
gymnasium. Dick counted the assemblage over twice, but could make no
more than nineteen, a sorry showing compared with last year; twenty
men--including himself--from which to select two eights! But he was
careful to let none of the discontent that he felt appear on his face.
“There aren’t very many of us, fellows,” he said cheerfully, “but I
guess we all mean business, and that’s a good deal.”
Professor Beck entered at that moment, paused to remove his rubbers,
and then surveyed the candidates through his glasses.
“Well, boys, are you all here?” His gaze traveled around the room. “But
I see that you’re not. Four o’clock was the hour, wasn’t it, Hope?”
“Yes, sir; and it’s now a quarter after. I guess they’re all here that
are coming.”
“Bless me, this won’t do! How many--four, six, ten, sixteen, twenty?
Twenty men for two crews. What do you fellows think we’re going to race
with this year, pair-oars?”
The candidates, perched about the room on window-sills and radiators,
smiled, but were careful not to laugh aloud, since it was evident that
the professor was thoroughly vexed.
“Hope, you’ll have to go among the fellows and work up some interest in
the crews; and Taylor, you’re an old-crew man, you do the same; and the
rest of you, too, I want you all to talk rowing, and next week I want
as many more candidates on hand. This is perfect poppycock! Twenty men,
indeed! Well, that’s all I’ve got to say to you; now listen to Captain
Hope.” And the professor withdrew to a window, where he polished his
glasses vigorously and made a number of the new candidates very nervous
by the critical way in which he studied them.
“I’d like every fellow’s name before he leaves,” said Dick. “And I
want to see every one here promptly at three o’clock next Wednesday
afternoon. Meanwhile those of you who haven’t been examined for
crew work will please attend to it. Have you set any special days,
professor?”
“Yes, to-morrow and Saturday afternoons,” answered the latter, “between
four and six.”
“You new fellows must understand that permits to take part in baseball
and track games won’t answer for rowing, so please see Mr. Beck
to-morrow if possible; if not, on Saturday. I hope that you’ll do as
Mr. Beck has requested; I mean try and work up more of an interest
in rowing; every fellow ought to be able to bring at least one other
fellow with him next Wednesday. We’ve got a hard proposition before
us this spring, but it’s by no means a hopeless one. We’ve beaten St.
Eustace on the river before--often--and we can do it again; but it
means lots of hard work, and any fellow that’s afraid of work might
as well pull out now, for we can’t have any shirking. Last spring
there was a good deal of trouble at the first of the season because
the candidates--some of them, that is--tried to get out of preliminary
work. That won’t do; the work on the weights at the beginning of the
season is really important, and it’s got to be faced; and I tell you
now that any fellow who won’t go through with it honestly isn’t wanted.
But I don’t believe there are any of that sort here to-day, and I hope
there won’t be next Wednesday. I guess that’s all I have to say. I
hope every fellow will bear in mind the fact that in trying for the
crew he is not only bettering his own physical condition and health,
but standing by the school; he can’t do more for the honor of Hillton
than by honest, sincere work on the crews. And it doesn’t make any
difference whether he makes the varsity boat or the second; in either
case he’s doing his best, doing his duty; for the fellow that rows with
the second eight is helping to turn out a winning crew almost as much
as though he rowed in the race with St. Eustace. I hope we’ll all pull
together this year and that there won’t be any discord. I’ll do my
level best, and I’ll trust you fellows to do yours; and if that is so I
defy St. Eustace or any one else to beat us!”
The audience showed its approval of these sentiments by clapping,
Taylor perhaps the loudest of all, and Dick, somewhat red in the
face from his effort, smiled, and drawing a tablet from his pocket,
proceeded to take the fellows’ names. Professor Beck settled his
glasses again on his nose and approached a youth who during the
proceedings had been perched comfortably on the top of a radiator, but
who, having secured the entry of his name in the list of candidates,
was now examining with interest the working of one of the rowing
machines.
“You’re Nesbitt, aren’t you?” asked the professor.
“Yes, sir.”
“Ever rowed any, Nesbitt?”
“Yes, as a youngster”--here the professor smiled slightly--“I used to
paddle a bit; that was in England.”
“Ah, yes; I recollect you now. You won the last quarter in the relay
race the other night; that was well run, my boy, although you’re rather
too heavy for fast work. How was your wind when you finished?”
“It was rather short; the spurts tuckered me quite a bit.”
“Yes, I imagine you could get rid of eight pounds or so to good
advantage. You’d better come and see me to-morrow and take your
examination, so that I can put you to work on the weights as soon as
possible. I’m glad you’re going to try for the crew; you look as though
you were made for a rowing man.” He nodded smilingly and moved away,
and Trevor, assuming an appearance of unconcern, while secretly much
flattered by the professor’s attention, joined Dick, who had finished
his list and was conversing with Roy Taylor and Crocker, a large,
heavily built youth who had rowed at Number 6 in the second eight the
preceding year. Taylor was speaking when Trevor approached.
“Why, last winter over forty fellows turned out, and now look at ’em!
Great Scott! There’s no use _trying_ to get a decent crew out of twenty
men!”
Dick frowned, and Crocker offered a suggestion:
“Look here, the Hilltonian comes out in less than a week; what’s the
matter with getting Singer to write a ripping editorial about the
necessity for more candidates, and--and ‘asking the support of the
entire student body,’ and all that sort of stuff? Maybe there’s still
time; I’m blamed if I know when the paper goes to press.”
“That’s a good idea, Bob,” answered Dick. “And I’ll see Singer this
evening. And meanwhile you fellows do what you can; you ought to be
able to drum up lots of fellows, Taylor; you know plenty of them, and
what you say has weight.”
“Well, I’ll do what I can, Hope, of course, but there doesn’t seem to
be the usual interest in rowing this year.”
“I know; we’ve got to awaken interest. I’ll see you the last of the
week and we’ll have another council of war. Going back to the room,
Nesbitt?”
On their way across the Yard, which between the walks was a waste
of heavily crusted snow upon which the afternoon sunlight flashed
dazzlingly, the two boys were silent--Dick with the little creases in
his forehead very deep, and Trevor kicking at the ice in a manner which
suggested annoyance. When the dormitory was reached Trevor stopped
and let go savagely at a small cake of ice, which, as it was securely
frozen to the granite step, only resulted in an unpleasant jar to his
foot. But the jar seemed to loosen his tongue, for he turned quickly to
Dick as they passed into the building, and asked explosively:
“Is that chap Taylor all right?”
“Why? Have you heard anything?” asked Dick.
“No; only--only he looks as though he didn’t much like you, Hope; and
then he talks so sick!”
“Sick?”
“Yes; I mean he talks as though he didn’t _want_ the crew to be a
success; haven’t you noticed it?”
“The trouble with Roy Taylor,” answered the other gravely as they
passed into Number 16, “is that he hates to have any one else win out
at anything. He has a mighty high opinion of Roy Taylor, you know. He
wanted to be captain, and I don’t think he has ever forgiven me for
beating him; but I guess he’ll come round in the end and do his best
for the crew.”
Trevor didn’t look impressed with this last remark. He studied the
flames awhile thoughtfully as he held his hands up to the warmth. Then:
“I see. I don’t fancy, then, he loves me much after the way I beat him
Saturday night, eh?”
“I guess not,” answered Dick laughingly. “I ‘fancy’ we’re both down in
his black book.”
“Yes.” Trevor turned away and rummaged among the _débris_ of the study
table. “Seen my algebra? Never mind, here it is.” He drew a chair up
before the fireplace and opened the book, only to lay it down again and
deliver himself forcibly of the following declaration:
“Taylor may be as waxy with me as he likes, Hope, but he’s got to
understand that if he interferes with this crew business there’s a
plaguy lot of trouble ahead for him!”
“And for me, too,” thought Dick, as he gazed despondently at the slim
list of candidates.