DICK SURRENDERS
“Stroke side, catch the beginning sharper; the boat rolls down on the
bow oars. Bow side, keep your hands up! That’s better! Steady now, all;
don’t rush forward. Keep your swing long; you’re all rowing too short
in the water!... Every man keep his eyes in the boat. Watch the man in
front of you and follow his movements; make a machine of yourself!...
You’re out of time again! Listen for the rattle of the locks. There
ought to be but one sound, and I can hear at least five. Use your ears,
men!... Stroke, lengthen out, lengthen out; you’re much too short!”
And Malcolm Kirk, standing in the bow of the little naphtha launch
Terrible, took his megaphone from his mouth and motioned to the man in
charge. The Terrible swung around in a short swirl of blue water and
headed down-stream, waiting for the shell to make its long turn above.
Across the sun-kissed wavelets came the sound of the coxswain’s voice:
“Easy all!... Three and Bow, paddle. Stroke and Six, back water!...
Forward!... Are you ready?... Row!” Then down the river came the
boat, looking for all the world like an enormous water-bug, its eight
long legs treading the bosom of the river in unison, or at least in
unison so far as the ordinary observer would have been able to judge,
but not at all satisfactory in that respect to the motionless figure
on the launch. The eight backs bent together and the boat sped past
the Terrible, which instantly _puff-puffed_ impatiently and started in
pursuit, taking up a position off Number Two.
“Stroke, you’re still too short,” began the coach all over again. “Keep
it low and long!... Seven, you bend your arms too soon; swing back with
them perfectly straight; remember, you can’t make them do your work;
hard against the stretcher, now!... That’s a bit better.... Six, you
start your slide too soon; I’ve spoken to you of that often enough. Get
your whole body-weight well onto the stroke before you drive your slide
away.... Sit up, Five! Ram that slide back to the limit!... Four, your
body’s falling out of the boat! Keep your outside leg and hand firm!...
Three, drop your hands more so as to get your oar out of the water
clean.... That’s vastly better!... Two, you’re too slow with your hands
and too quick with your body. Shoot your hands away lively and turn
your inside wrist sharply; then follow with the body more slowly....
Bow, you’re rolling the boat again! Catch the water more sharply!...
Time! Time! Listen for the rattle of the oars in the locks, men;
you’re beastly ragged!... Stroke, you’re rowing light again! Keep your
hands up to the end!”
And so on for another half mile, when the boat was again turned and
brought back to the landing, where the second squad were embarking
under the direction of its coxswain. “Let her run!” cried Keene, and
the first squad lifted their dripping oars from the water and the shell
approached the float silently, easily. “Touch her a bit, Stroke.”
Dick’s oar went back into the water and he paddled gently until the
boat’s head was brought nearer to the landing. “Easy, Stroke. Mind your
oars, bow side!” Then the shell floated alongside, was seized by those
on the float, and the oars were unlocked. “Stroke!... Bow!... Seven!...
Two!... Six!... Three!... Five!... Four!” called the coxswain, and one
by one the crew stepped out. Then the shell was lifted, dripping and
shining from the water, and borne into the house. The second squad had
meanwhile paddled into the stream, and their troubles had begun. Down
the river they went, followed by the inexorable Kirk and the puffing
Terrible.
Dick, weary, out of tune with himself for his sorry work, led the first
squad off on a short run, down the river-path to the campus, across the
golf links, still too soft for good running, and back by Academy Road
toward the gymnasium, to baths and rest. And as he trotted along the
voice of the coach echoed continuously in his ears: “_Stroke, you’re
rowing light again!_” Anger at his own miserable performance in the
boat and an intense loathing for it all seized upon him. Taylor could
have the job, and welcome! He felt a downright hate of the fellows
behind him because they had witnessed his degradation. What could they
think, he asked himself, of a captain who had been cautioned four times
for the same fault in a half-hour’s work? How could they--what had
been Trevor’s words? Look up? Yes--how could they look up to such a
captain? Hang them! What did he care what they thought of him? A pack
of selfish, half-hearted idiots, they were! But in the next moment he
acknowledged that he did care--a good deal. And with that the squad
reached the gymnasium, and Dick pulled himself wearily up the steps. On
the way across the yard later he encountered Keene.
“Hope, Kirk asked me to tell you he’d like to have you go over to his
room this evening after supper if you can. I was on my way to your
room.”
“All right; I’ll go. I say, Keene, what did you think of us to-day?”
One of the coxswain’s virtues was a fondness for plain, direct language
unadorned with verbiage.
“Rotten!” he answered earnestly. Dick nodded, made a pathetic effort
at a smile, and strode on. Keene watched him thoughtfully until he
disappeared into Masters Hall, then he turned and went on his way. “He
won’t last until the race,” he muttered. “Rowed like a farmer to-day,
and looks now as though tired out.”
Directly after supper Dick walked to the village and found Malcolm
Kirk in his room at Hutchins’s boarding-house. He was seated before
an open window, his feet on the sill, puffing voluminously at a brier
pipe. Upon Dick’s advent he greeted him smilingly and pushed forward an
armchair.
“Sit down, Hope. It was very good of you to come over. I might have
done the journeying myself and called on you, but I thought we’d have a
better chance of a talk here in my diggings. Rather an off-day, wasn’t
it?”
“Yes.” Dick relapsed into silence after this monosyllabic reply, and
Kirk occupied himself with his pipe for a moment. Then he faced Dick,
with a return to his usual grave aspect.
“Hope, you’re not looking well. I want you to lay off for a week.
You’re stale; I could see that by your work to-day, and your face tells
as much now. We can’t risk you getting laid up, you know.”
“I feel pretty well,” answered Dick. “But I don’t blame you for
thinking I’m stale after the exhibition I made to-day,” he added
bitterly. “I don’t know what got into me; I rowed like a--like a chump!”
“Well, don’t let that trouble you,” replied Kirk, soothingly. “It’s
bound to happen once in a while; I never saw a crew captain yet that
didn’t go off his work for a bit at some stage in the game; in fact, I
should be rather afraid of one that didn’t; I should think he was like
the Sunday-school books--too good to be true. How’s your appetite?”
“Pretty fair.”
“Sleep well?”
“Not very.”
“Why?”
“Because---- Oh, I suppose it’s because of the wretched state things
are in.”
“Crew, you mean?”
Dick nodded.
“Well, affairs don’t look bright just at present; I’ll acknowledge
that, Hope; in fact, it’s best to own up to the condition and face it
squarely. But that doesn’t mean that there’s anything to be gained by
worrying about it. No, take my advice; do your best, knock off work for
a few days, make up your mind that everything’s going to come out right
in the end, and keep whistling. After all--though I wouldn’t say this
to any one but you--there’s not a particle of disgrace in being beaten,
not a particle. I don’t want you to imagine that I’ve got it into my
head that we’re going to be beaten; for I haven’t; I’ve seen plenty of
more hopeless-looking cases than this right themselves when the time
came. But what I mean is that it’s a poor plan to tell yourself that
defeat is disgraceful; if you believe that you’ll find yourself in a
condition for suicide some day; for every chap, no matter who, has got
to face defeat at some time in his life. And the chap that can take a
drubbing and come up smiling is the one that is going to be happiest
and going to make the most of his life. The only time when defeat
brings disgrace is when you haven’t done your honest best. But I didn’t
ask you over here to listen to a lecture. What do you think of my plan?
Will you lay off a while? To-day’s Friday; suppose we say until a week
from to-morrow?”
“All right,” answered Dick dejectedly. “If you think I’d better;
though, as far as I’m concerned, I don’t think there’s any necessity
for it.”
“Of course you don’t; never saw a man who did. But we’ll call it a whim
of mine, if you like. Well, that’s settled. Don’t come near the river;
don’t talk about rowing, and don’t even think of it if you can help it;
take a walk every day, or a run, and do just enough work at the weights
meanwhile to keep your muscles stretchy. Do you think Crocker will be a
good man to put in at stroke while you’re out of it?”
“Yes,” answered Dick. “You know I had him rowing there during vacation;
he did first-rate.”
“All right. I think we’d better pick the first and second crews next
week and send them to training-table. It’s rather earlier than last
year, but then we’re a bit more backward. Now, another thing. That
fellow Jones is no earthly use in Taylor’s position; in the first
place, he’s not varsity stuff; in the second place he can’t row to any
remarkable extent, and there isn’t time to start in and teach him
the rudiments of the art at this late day; in short, he’s out of the
question. And I don’t know of any fellow that I care to try there. Do
you?”
“Not unless it’s Garvier of the second,” answered Dick. “He’s got
the weight and he’s hard-working; he pulls a rather good oar, too;
only--well, I’m afraid he lacks sand.”
Kirk nodded and blew a volume of smoke toward the window.
“I’d thought of Garvier, but your estimate of him is just about mine;
as you say, I don’t think he’s got enough grit for Seven. When you come
down to it Seven needs almost as much hard horse-sense, coolness, and
judgment as does Stroke. In fact, the style of the crew depends more on
him than on Stroke. I believe I’d rather put up with a poor Stroke than
a poor Number 7. No, decidedly Garvier won’t do. How about Crocker?”
“He might do, of course, only I think he’s about where he belongs now,
don’t you, sir?”
“Yes, I suppose so, although---- Well, there seems to be but one thing
to do.”
“What’s that?” asked Dick.
“Get Taylor back. Now wait a moment, Hope. I don’t propose to interfere
with you, not a particle.”
“I hadn’t any such idea,” protested Dick.
“All right. What I propose to do is to go with you to see this contrary
beggar and make one more appeal to him; and if you say now that you’d
rather not ask him again--for I can well understand your having
feeling in the matter--I’ll drop the project and say nothing more about
it; we’ll fight it out without Taylor. On the other hand, if you are
willing to try again and don’t object to my--well, sticking my finger
into your pie, as it were, we’ll go together and have it out with him.
What do you say?”
Dick hesitated, and Kirk, without appearing to do so, eyed him
intently. Kirk, believing that a quarrel existed between the two boys,
imagined that Dick was having a struggle with his vanity. “And,” Kirk
told himself, “I sha’n’t blame him if he refuses.” But Dick didn’t
refuse. Knowing upon what terms Taylor would alone consent to return to
training, he mentally threw back his shoulders and replied:
“I think there may be a chance of Taylor’s having reconsidered. But
I think your request would have more weight, and I’d rather that
you’d ask him. As for your interfering, I hadn’t thought of it; and I
shouldn’t consider it that, sir. If you like we’ll go over and see him
now.”
“A good idea; no time like the present. Where does he room?”
“At Coolidge’s.”
“Coolidge’s? I guess I don’t know that. Is it near here?”
“Well, not very, it’s almost the last house in the village, I guess;
just beyond the Episcopal Church.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of the walk,” returned Kirk. “I was only
wondering if it was an old house I’d forgotten. But I think it must be
new since my day.”
“It is, I guess; looks as though it hadn’t been up more than a few
years.”
Kirk took a walking-stick from a corner, turned down the light, and the
two left the house together and proceeded through the village, past the
Town Hall, the Eagle Tavern, and the church that Dick had mentioned,
until a large square frame house loomed up on their left. Dick led
the way upstairs to Taylor’s room, and found that youth entertaining
Waters and another boy, both of whom, however, took their leave at
once. Taylor greeted Dick easily, and the coach respectfully, but was
quite evidently far from being at his ease. His first thought was that
Dick had confided everything to Kirk, and that there was trouble ahead.
But the coach’s introduction dispelled that illusion, and he breathed
easier.
“Taylor, Hope and I have come to ask your help,” announced Kirk,
smiling but earnest. “To put the matter in few words, we’re in a hard
way for a man at Number 7 in the varsity boat, and we want you to
reconsider your decision and come back.”
It is unnecessary to follow Kirk’s argument; he said practically what
Dick had said on the occasions of his two previous visits, although
he said it all a trifle more forcibly, and with a suggestion of
authority. And when he had finished, Taylor, who seemed greatly
impressed, turned toward Dick.
“I hadn’t thought of it in just that way, sir,” he said, with an
assumption of frankness, “and if Hope wants me to return I’ll do so.”
“Hope’s wishes are the same as mine,” answered Kirk gravely. “I have
acted in the matter only with his full consent.”
But Taylor’s eyes were still on Dick, and he awaited that youth’s
reply. Now that the moment had come to relinquish his honors Dick
experienced a moment of revolt. He well knew what Taylor’s words meant;
he was to be held to the terms of the offer made on his last visit.
It was hardly fair, to be sure, since, with Kirk present, there was
but one reply he could make. But after the first twinge of regret he
was glad that it was so; the matter had been settled for him. He would
resign the captaincy and Taylor should have it; he would still row in
the boat, and, when the success of the crew was at stake, his sacrifice
was but little after all. All this passed through his mind in the
fraction of a second, and it was with but the slightest hesitation that
he met Taylor’s look, and smiled across at him. The smile was prompted
by relief and not by friendship; but this Kirk could not know, and so
was heartily glad to see it; and concluded thereby that the quarrel
between the two lads was at an end.
“Yes,” said Dick, “I want you to come back. I’ve never wanted anything
else.”
“Do you mean that?” questioned Taylor’s eyes.
“I do,” answered Dick’s.
Kirk arose. “That’s settled, then, and I’m very glad. I don’t think
you’ll regret it, Taylor. And I’ll look for you to-morrow afternoon,
shall I?”
“Yes, sir.” He accompanied them down to the door courteously, and bade
them good-night smilingly from the stoop. When the two reached the
street Kirk heaved a sigh of relief.
“That’s over with,” he muttered.
“Yes,” echoed Dick, “it’s over.”
But Taylor didn’t report for crew work on the following afternoon.
Instead, a message came saying that he had fallen while coming out of
chapel, and had sprained his right knee. And Dick, wistfully watching
the distant boat from his window, wondered whether Fate had changed its
mind.