When Tom reached the Whitman house on the day of the race, he found it
full. He had seen Nancy only once since her illness; and as her room had
then been filled with people, his call was not remarkable. He had not
failed to notice, nevertheless, that the colour came into her face as he
entered the room; and there had been other auspicious signs which had
had an exciting effect upon his pulse. This call had been made only two
days before the race, and it was then clear that Nancy could not go with
him. A Philadelphia cousin had, however, announced her arrival--a
particular friend of hers being in the Woodbridge boat--and would Tom
mind taking her? Uncle Bob Whitman had wonderful seats, being an
Overseer, but he wasn't going to be able to use them, and--of course Tom
would be only too happy to take her.
Nancy, pale and lovely, was serving tea, but she found time to thank him
again for his goodness about the Philadelphia cousin, and then she took
him over to be presented. On the way across the room they passed Henry.
Tom, who stared at him, missed the tell-tale blush on Nancy's cheeks.
Instead, he only saw Henry shift his eyes calmly from Nancy to him and
bow coldly. Tom bowed as coldly in his turn, and then Nancy left him
with the Philadelphia cousin.
Lily Griffin, the Philadelphia cousin, gazed at him steadily from under
the floppy expanse of her black hat. She was sitting on a low cane
covered bench before the fireplace, and her legs, which were encased in
light grey silk stockings and which terminated in slippers of the same
colour, her legs, let it be relentlessly repeated, were the most
conspicuous things in the room. Over her shoulders were the thin strings
of an undergarment that Tom thought was generally concealed. Still, one
couldn't be at all sure about such things from one day to the next.
"Would you mind taking my cigarette?" she asked, handing him the stub.
"So you know Platt Raeburn," he began amiably when he had returned from
his pretty task.
"Yes."
"He's an awfully nice boy. I know him quite well." Platt was in the
Star; and Lily, who knew a great deal about such things, immediately
suspected that Tom was also. How else would a professor know a crew star
"quite well"? Her interest in Tom rose. He had, as a matter of fact,
attractive eyes; and that cerise-coloured knitted tie with a pearl
stickpin might indicate much.
"Platt is a nice boy, isn't he?" she continued with a shade more
enthusiasm. "We went on the most wonderful party this Easter. He wasn't
in training then, you know, and I have never seen any one funnier than
he was. We were at the Greysons' in Ardmore, and Platt thought he was
insulted by the butler when he took Platt's cigarette off a table and
threw it in the fire. It was burning the table, but old Platt didn't
know that, and he knocked the man down."
"It must have been funny," said Tom, who had heard the story before.
"Oh, it was a scream. I thought I'd die laughing. It was really awfully
bad of him, though, don't you think?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Tom boldly. "I don't think it was so very bad.
You've got to expect that sort of thing nowadays."
"Mercy, I didn't think you'd say that. Aren't you a professor here, or
something?"
"Yes, something."
"Well, but I always thought----"
"What?" with a smile.
"Oh, nothing. Say, just between you and I, don't you think this is
rather slow?" and she gave him a look that showed he was making good.
The hospitality they were accepting was, of course, his own Nancy's, and
to be strictly honourable he should have defended everything, but with
certain definite reservations in his mind he replied, "Deadly."
"That dreadful old creature over there actually eyed me when I smoked
that last cig." The dreadful old creature was Mrs. Conover, who found it
difficult to reconstruct herself to the present century. "I should
think it would be awfully stupid living here. Now, isn't it really?"
"No, it isn't half bad."
"Oh, I can see you're a highbrow, like all the rest of them. Personally,
I couldn't stand it. I'm too independent, I guess. What a sweet dog."
Clarence was before her, arrayed in the Woodbridge colours. "I love
dogs. I've the sweetest little Boston bull bitch at home. She won a
silver flask for me last year." She was examining Clarence with the eye
of a practised dogwoman. "Do you know anything about Airedales?" Tom
didn't. "I suspect his tail is wrong," she said. "Now run along,
sweetie," she called to Clarence; "momma can't have a baby with wrong
tail." Clarence received this incredulously, but a complication was
averted by the arrival of Nancy. "We were just criticizing your dog, my
dear. Why don't you have his tail fixed?"
"Why, what's the matter with it?" asked Nancy. She hated the thought of
anything having happened to Clarence.
"Why, it's too long. You should have two inches at least cut off." The
picture of Clarence going around with his tail done up in a bandage was
a delightful one, and Nancy laughed.
Lily appealed to Tom. "Isn't she heartless?" But before Tom could answer
the slightly embarrassing question, the cruel one announced that they
had better be on their way, as the race started at five and it was then
half-past four. So they hustled into the Whitman motor and drove to
Center, where the new observation train was already filling.
The race with Hartley was always one of the great spring events, but the
new observation train made it more of an event than ever. People gloated
over it as though they had never seen a train before, much to the
amusement of Lily, whose attendance at New London had been frequent.
Many paused admiringly at the engine and, as they passed on up the line
of a dozen cars, loudly proclaimed their admiration of the entire
arrangement. "They are just like prairie schooners," said one young man,
to Lily's huge delight, for she had never before seen so much
provincialism all at once. The platform was thick with people rushing to
find their cars at the last minute. All was hurry and excitement and
colour and laughter. The orange of Woodbridge and the olive of Hartley
were everywhere. Each person boldly displayed his colours, whether with
flowers or feathers, and it was clear that earth had few greater
pleasures than this. Then the engine tooted and rang its bell, and with
a convulsive wrench they were off, amid the cheers of everyone.
Tom and his Lily were seated between the Hartley cheering section and
the Woodbridge cheering section, in the very choice seats which Mr.
Whitman naturally commanded and Tom, although he thought boat racing a
much overrated sport and resented its being preferred to baseball, felt
a distinct thrill as they passed out upon the river bank and up to the
starting point. Only the cold unseasonable wind which swept down the
course, riffling the water and chilling every one to the bone, marred
the day.
They arrived at the starting point, and the occupants of the new cars
wrapped what little they had around them. Quite obviously, the race
could not be rowed until the wind died. There was nothing to do but just
sit and wait.
The Hartley cheering section immediately climbed down upon the bank,
with the exception of one young man who was left with his head lolling
over the side of the car next to Tom. Friendly remonstrance had been
futile. He had refused to move and had elected to slumber. "I think he's
sweet," said Lily, gazing over at him. "Tell me, do you have much
trouble getting liquor here?"
"No," said Tom. Already the spell of the day was wearing off.
"I've learned, to my sorrow that you can't be too careful. Such a time
as I had last month! I went out to a luncheon party--May Stephens--you
know her? Well, just before luncheon I was astonished to see cocktails
appear. I didn't think May had any stock, but there she was just the
same, jiggling the shaker up and down. Well, at the first sip I thought
something was funny, but there was nothing to do about it; and then May
gave me a dividend, and although it nearly killed me, I managed to get
it down, and then when we were all through she asked us how we liked it.
Well, I told her I thought it was a little funny, and then she
announced what I knew all along; that she had made it herself. 'I made
it out of spirits of nitre,' she said. 'Did you boil off the ether?'
someone asked, and she said she hadn't! Well, we hadn't got hardly
started at lunch when one of the girls passed right straight out and
then we all began feeling trembly and queer, and then the next thing I
knew I was at home in bed, and I wasn't up and about for a week. Wasn't
that awful?"
Tom's enthusiasm was ebbing fast. What a prodigious bore this race was
going to be! The wind was blowing up his legs, and his light spring
overcoat was far from ample. The seats were too close together and were
of a granite hardness; but he and Lily were wedged into the back and
could not escape without treading upon the toes of half of Woodbridge's
notables. So he sat still and tried to smile brightly at the conclusion
of her story.
"Do you know?" Lily continued, "I think you have a lovely smile."
"Goody," replied Tom, and smiled again, this time rather archly.
Lily was examining him between half closed lids. "And I think you have
nice eyes, too--particularly the lashes. They are so long and silky."
"Well, it's a great secret, of course," replied Tom, "and you mustn't
tell even your mother"--Lily giggled--"but I think you have the
prettiest way with you I have ever seen."
"Oh, dear me, you are funny. Now you must keep me warm."
The car, it has been pointed out, was full of Woodbridge notables, and
any warming of the young lady would not have been looked upon with
favour. Nor would Tom have cared to warm her had they been quite alone
at the North Pole. What an ordeal this was getting to be, and how lucky
was Nancy, comfortably seated before the fire! How good would that
particular fire be, and what a soft and fragrant place to ask a certain
question! What a contrast Nancy made to this miserable girl beside him!
Nancy at the time happened to be repairing certain ravages that the tea
had made upon her nephew's best blue suit, but the scheme of Tom's
thoughts was not spoiled.
"Bad man, you're not showing me any kind of a time."
Tom was exasperated. A group in front of them had built a fire. "How
would you like to go down there?" he asked. "Can you climb down over the
side here?"
"'Course I can."
Tom climbed over the railing, dropped to the ground, and, turning his
ankle, cried "Ouch!" loudly enough to waken the young Hartley man whose
head was lolling over the adjacent railing. The youth looked up and
beheld the lovely Lily poised, apparently preparing to fly into his
arms. He reared himself up. "Come, lovely girl," he cried, "I love you."
And then as she swooped by, he made a grab at her and tore her dress.
"You bad boy," she cried, with little discretion, "you tore my dress."
"You bad boy," repeated the young Hartley man, "yuhtoradress,
yuhtoradress."
Tom had managed to hurry her away, although his ankle hurt him
considerably, but not until all the notables had seen the performance.
What a mortifying affair. No doubt many supposed that he was the one who
had torn the dress.
Fortunately, Lily met a friend at the fire, and Tom was free for the
time being. Would the wind never die down? The flag on the coach's
launch was not quite so active. There was a rumour that they would start
at six-thirty. Only half an hour more. Well, he could stand that. Lily
seemed to be having a time with her new young man, and he limped over to
a neighbouring fire where there were fewer Lilies and more heat. There
he met a classmate of whom he was particularly fond; and before he knew
it the starter's launch had put out into the river, and the parties
around the fires were scampering back aboard the train. With
considerable difficulty he followed Lily up over the side, for his foot
was now swollen and painful. Finally, however, they were seated again,
buoyed up with the thought of the race's being at last under way--when
the starter's boat retired from the scene, and word arrived that the
race would not be rowed until seven.
Tom could not cover his disappointment.
"I don't think you are very polite!" said Lily.
"Sorry," replied Tom, his ankle throbbing.
"In fact I think you're horrid."
"Good!" said Tom. Lily looked her rage and half turned her back on him.
Well, that was something to be thankful for, at any rate.
They sat there in ever-increasing gloom. Some of the Lilies gamboled
back to shiver over the fires, but even they were beginning to droop.
Tom's Lily would have joined them--her new friend was not a wet
smack--but Tom, with his throbbing ankle, did not offer to go, and she
was too proud to suggest it. So they sat and waited.
The race was eventually rowed. At the starter's gun the train gave
another convulsive jerk, which sent Tom's injured foot flying against
the side of the car, and the crowd fanned into life its jaded
enthusiasm. Out in the gathering dusk the two crews inched their way
along. It was not quite clear which was which, the blades both showing
black, and though Lily was certain she had located Platt and cheered
lustily for his boat, subsequent evidence indicated that he was in the
other. The two cheering sections woke to frenzy, and the notables' car
was swept with confusion. Lily was beside herself and kept jumping to
her feet with an appealing cry of "Oh Platt!" Tom looked over at the
Hartley car at one point and saw that his friend had apparently had
fresh access to his source of refreshment, for he was now blissfully
asleep, cheek on the railing.
At the two-mile stake--with a final mile to go--the boats were even,
but both sides were jubilant, for from each section it clearly showed
that the home crew was ahead. Then the train shot behind a heavily
timbered point, and when the view of the river was again free, the
Woodbridge shell was half a length behind and obviously beaten. A pang
of disappointment shot through Tom. Oh, well, it was a fitting climax to
the day. There they were, slipping back and back. They were splashing
badly, and one of the Woodbridge men was obviously not pulling his
weight. Then the Hartley boat flashed over the finish amid the tooting
of countless automobiles along the banks, a winner by a length and a
quarter.
The Hartley people had given way to a transport of joy, while their
coxswain crawled along his shell throwing water over the chests and
faces of his men. The two boats floated idly about, their crews bowed
forward, gasping in agony for strength. To the men in the Hartley boat
came the faint sound of their grateful supporters. They had won--and
what was an enlarged heart or, possibly, a damaged kidney, to such
glory? The half hysterical screams of their Lilies were sweet
compensation. As for the Woodbridge crew, well, they would have to
swallow their dose as best they could--and wait for next year.
The young Hartley man next to Tom woke up. "'S the race over?" he asked.
"Yes, it's over," shouted Tom, for no one else heard him.
"Thank God," he shouted hoarsely, and went back to sleep--a sentiment
which cheered Tom so much that Lily, on the homeward trip, decided he
wasn't quite such a dumb-bunny, after all.