THE BOAT RACES
The day for the boat races dawned clear and bright. There was no breeze
and the surface of Cayuga Lake was almost as smooth as a mill pond.
“What an ideal day for the contests!” cried Jack, as he and Andy walked
down to the boathouse. “It couldn’t possibly be better.”
“If it doesn’t blow up a storm by afternoon,” answered the acrobatic
cadet.
The boys went rowing for an hour in the morning, and Dale coached them
as before. George Strong came down to watch them and gave them a few
“points,” for he had rowed in the crew of his college years before.
“You have not had quite enough practice,” said the teacher. “But you do
fairly well.”
When the time came for the races quite a crowd assembled along the lake
shore, and many were out in rowboats and sailboats and also in gasoline
launches.
“I wonder if Mr. Ford is out?” said Jack. He referred to a wealthy
gentleman of that district who owned a beautiful yacht. The season
before Jack, Pepper, and Andy had saved Mr. Ford’s two daughters, Laura
and Flossie, from being drowned, and the gentleman had been their warm
friend ever since.
“I think not,” said Stuffer. “Their mansion at the Point has been closed
up for the winter, and they are not yet back.”
It was not long before Roy Bock and his crew appeared, in a brand-new
rowboat which was certainly a beauty. It was painted black, with a gold
stripe, and cut the water like a thing of life.
“That’s a better boat than ours,” whispered. Stuffer. “No wonder they
want to race us. I guess they want to show off their new boat as much as
anything.”
The Pornell students had brought with them a large number of “rooters,”
and these cheered to the echo when their friends appeared.
“Hurrah for Pornell Academy!”
“Go in and win! You can do it easily!”
“Hurrah for Putnam Hall!” cried the others, and this cheer also went the
length of the course.
A race between four small boys was the first on the programme of events,
and this was won by Pornell by three lengths. When the result was
announced the Pornellites cheered lustily.
“What did we tell you!”
“Now go in and win the next race!”
The next contest was that between some students of Pornell and Dan
Baxter and his cronies. Both crews got away in good shape, and soon the
bully’s crew took the lead.
“Baxter’s crew is going to win!”
“Wait, the race isn’t finished yet!”
Half the race had been rowed, and still the Baxter crew kept the lead.
“Looks as if they might win after all,” said Pepper.
“Well, I hope they do—for the honor of Putnam Hall,” put in Jack,
promptly.
“That’s right—Putnam Hall against all comers!” cried Andy.
The race was almost done and Baxter’s crew still had a lead of two
lengths. They were rowing with all their might, but their strength was
almost gone.
“Pull, fellows!” cried the leader of the opponents. And pull they did
until the two boats were bow to bow.
“It’s a tie!”
“No, the Pornell crew is ahead!”
“There they go over the line!”
“Pornell wins by a full length!”
The last cry was correct, and once again the Pornell followers yelled
and cheered at the top of their lungs. Dan Baxter’s crew was much
crestfallen and rowed to the Putnam Hall boathouse looking glum enough.
“Now here come some more victims!” cried a Pornell enthusiast, as Dale
and his crew appeared.
“Boys, we must win!” whispered Dale, with fire in his eyes. “We have
simply got to do it. If we don’t those Pornell fellows will never get
done crowing over us.”
“We’ll win!” said Pepper, firmly. “Oh, we’ve got to do it! Row for all
you are worth!”
The two boats were soon at the starting-point, and the rules of the race
were explained.
“Are you ready?” was the question put.
There was a moment of silence.
Crack! went a pistol, and as the thin smoke floated over the lake the
two crews took the water with their blades and were off.
Each crew rowed a swift, clear stroke, and for the first half-mile the
two boats kept side by side.
“Looks like a tie!”
“No! the Pornell boat is crawling ahead!”
“This is Pornell’s race too! Boys, this is our winning day!”
“Don’t crow so soon,” said Joe Nelson,
“Oh, Pornell is going to win,” growled Reff Ritter. “Jack Ruddy and
those chaps can’t row.”
“They can row better than you can,” put in Bart Conners.
“Bah!” grumbled Ritter, and walked to another point of the boathouse
float.
At the end of the first mile Pornell was slightly in advance. Seeing
this, Dale increased the stroke, and at a mile and a quarter the boats
were once again side by side.
“Putnam Hall is crawling up!”
“They’ll win out yet!”
“Pull, Pornell, pull!” was the yell from the rival academy lads, and the
Pornell boys did pull, the perspiration streaming down the faces of Roy
Bock and his cronies.
“Gosh! this is a pace!” panted Andy.
“Don’t talk!” came shortly from Dale. “Pull!”
Again he increased the stroke and Pornell did the same. A quarter of a
mile was covered and Pornell was exactly half a boat’s length in the
lead.
“It’s Pornell’s race!”
“Hurrah for Roy Bock and his crew!”
“This is a great day for Pornell Academy!”
“Go home, Putnam, and learn how to row!”
The cries continued as the Pornell boat continued to forge ahead until
it was nearly two lengths in advance. But the pace was beginning to tell
on the rowers, and the fellow named Grimes was breathing with
difficulty.
“Keep it up—don’t give in yet!” cried Roy Bock. “We’re almost done!
Pull!”
Grimes tried to do so, and so did another fellow named Passmore. But
they were “all in,” as it is called, and could not add an ounce of
strength to their stroke. Roy Bock was also almost gone, and for the
instant the stroke was broken.
It was a chance that Dale had been looking for, and he was quick to take
advantage of it. He called on his crew in a sharp way that caused them
to brace up, and the stroke was increased wonderfully. Up crawled the
Putnam Hall crew, until the other boat was but a quarter of a length
ahead.
“Now, boys, now, and the race is ours!” sang out Dale, and they gave a
spurt. The line was about a hundred and fifty feet away, and over this
they shot—the winners by a length and an eighth!