RUTH'S LOSS
"Silence number seven--eyes in the boat--on the man in front of you!"
Thus the coach called to Tom, but there was no sting in his words, and
the tall baseball pitcher of Randall knew that it was for the good of
himself and the crew. Nothing is so important in a race as to save one's
wind, and to keep one's eyes fairly glued on the back of the man in
front of one. For on unison, and in rowing exactly in time with every
other man in the shell, does the race depend.
"Never mind Boxer Hall," went on Mr. Lighton. "We're going to beat her,
but we won't unless we learn how to keep our eyes in our own boat.
Steady there, Sid!"
On came the Boxer Hall eight. They were rowing down the stream, as were
our friends, but the rival college shell was in the rear, having gone up
stream earlier in the day, being now on the return trip.
"Don't try to race them when they pass us," cautioned Mr. Lighton, who
had not even turned his head to see the approaching shell behind him.
"It will be a temptation, I know, but we are not ready for a spurt yet."
"Are we going to let them pass us?" demanded the rich lad, almost
forgetting to row.
"Don't talk!" came sharply from the coxswain. "It's your business to
row, Boswell, if you want to be in this eight. You almost lost a stroke
then, and see how the boat slews! I have to shift the rudder to correct
it, and in a race that might mean the loss of considerable distance.
Pick up your stroke, and don't race!"
The face of the rich lad expressed disappointment, and his was not
the only one. Certainly it was a bit galling to let Boxer Hall--their
ancient rival--pass them, and the first time Randall was out in her
eight, too!
But afterward all admitted the wisdom of the course taken by the coach.
They were in no condition to race, and, green as most of them were as to
how to behave in a tricky shell, they might have had an upset. Not they
would have minded that, but they would have been the laughing-stock of
Boxer Hall.
On came the rivals, the oars being feathered beautifully. They took
the water with that peculiar chugging sound that always denotes a
well-trained crew.
"Listen, all of you," advised Mr. Lighton in a low voice. "That's what I
mean by the 'rotten-egg' sound. It's when the oar blade is plunged under
water as you begin your stroke. Try to attain it--after they pass."
The Boxer Hall lads, rowing perhaps a trifle faster than they had been
doing, sitting perhaps a trifle straighter, and pulling a bit harder--a
natural showing off--came opposite the shell containing our friends of
Randall.
"Want to try a little spurt?" called Dave Ogden, from the coxswain's
seat.
"No, thank you--we're just out for practice. It's our first spin,"
replied Mr. Lighton. "Some other time."
"Why not now?" murmured Boswell.
"Silence in the bow!" exclaimed the coach, sharply.
"You're a martinet!" retorted the rich lad, but in so low a voice that
only Phil, sitting in front of him, heard.
Not a lad in the Boxer Hall shell spoke, though several nodded in
friendly fashion at their acquaintances in the Randall boat. They were
evidently well trained, and were saving their wind.
On they rowed, passing those who hoped to prove themselves formidable
rivals by the following Fall. And in spite of the command of Mr. Lighton
for all eyes to be in the boat, hardly a lad of the eight but glanced
enviously at the smoothly-swinging shell, that looked so trim and so
neat. For, in spite of the work expended on the second-hand craft, it
showed what it was.
"But it won't be long before we have a better one," thought Tom.
"Row easy, all," came the command from the coach, when the Boxer Hall
boat had passed around a bend of the stream.
The stroke was slackened, to the relief of all, for, though they were
sturdy lads, rowing was a form of exercise to which they were not much
accustomed, especially in a shell. The strangeness of the seats, the toe
stretchers, and the outriggers added to their confusion, so that the
fatigue was almost as much one of attention and brain power as of muscle.
"Now for a turn against the current," remarked the coach, when they had
gone on a mile or two more. "This will give you some resistance to work
against."
The shell was turned, after a fashion, Mr. Lighton being anxious not
to bring too much strain on the outriggers, the turning action always
involving this.
"Give way!" came the command, and the shell started back up stream.
This was harder work, but the coach, desiring to know if he had any
members on the crew who were likely to prove of less service than the
others, kept them all up to a good stroke. There was some panting when
the float was reached, a larger crowd than before being there to welcome
the first tentative crew. But, to do the lads justice, not one but had
stood the strain well, even the fault-finding Boswell.
"Well rowed for the first time!" complimented Mr. Lighton. "Now, then,
a good shower bath and a rub-down, and then some light exercise to keep
from getting stiff, for you have used muscles to-day that seldom came
into play before. Now who's for another crew?" and he picked out eight
more lads, who went off in the shell.
"That was great!" cried Tom, as, with his three particular chums he
started for the gymnasium.
"It sure was," agreed Sid. "I never thought I could do so well."
"And I never knew I could do so rotten!" came from Frank. "I used to
think I was some pumpkins with an oar, but this has taken all the
conceit out of me."
"Same here," agreed Phil. "But I think we're on the right road."
"Boxer Hall did fine," went on Tom. "I give them credit for that. I wish
we'd started at rowing years ago. It's a shame it was so neglected at
Randall."
"It was dandy of those old grads to think to put us in the way of it
once more," went on Sid. "We'll have to pass them a vote of thanks."
Thus talking the boys went into the gymnasium, whence they emerged a
little later, glowing, and feeling the spring and buoyancy of youth.
"Hello, what's this?" asked Phil, as they entered their room, and saw
some letters on the table.
"From the girls!" cried Tom, as he saw a certain hand-writing.
"Here, you've got mine!" declared Frank, making a grab for the epistle
in Sid's hand.
"Beg your pardon old man--so I have. I'll trade," and soon the four lads
were busy perusing four notes.
"They're going to have a dance," spoke Tom. "A week from to-night. Will
we go? I guess yes! That is, I don't think we have any date for that
evening."
"If I have I'll break it," said Sid, quickly.
"Listen to the old misogynist--him as wouldn't used to speak to a girl!"
cried Phil. "Oh, what a change! What a change!"
"Dry up!" commanded Sid, making a reach for his chum, who nimbly escaped
by leaping behind the sofa.
"Say, this is pretty indefinite," went on Tom. "They just ask us to
come, and don't say who's to take who, or anything like that."
"And there are a new lot of fellows at Fairview," said Frank. "I move
that we go over and make sure of our girls. I don't want to get left."
"I should have thought Ruth would be more definite," put in Phil. "But
say, we've got time to run over and back before grub. Come on."
Regardless of the fact that they had just come in from a hard row, they
soon got into their "semi-best suits," as Sid called them, and hurried
to the trolley that would land them at the co-educational institution.
"There are the girls!" exclaimed Tom, who, being in the lead, as he and
his chums crossed the campus a little later, saw the four; Ruth, Madge
Tyler, Mabel Harrison and Helen Newton.
They paired off--as they always did--and soon were walking in different
directions. Tom was with Ruth Clinton, and after the matter of the dance
had been settled, and she had agreed to accompany him, as doubtless the
other girls had done for the other lads, the tall pitcher, with a glance
at his pretty companion remarked:
"New pin, Ruth? Where did you get it?" and he looked at her
collar-fastening.
"Hush!" she exclaimed, looking quickly around. "Don't tell Phil!"
"Why not?" Tom wanted to know. "Doesn't he want you to have jewelry?"
"Yes, but listen, you remember that dear old-fashioned brooch I used to
wear? The one with the secret spring in the back, that, when you pressed
on it, showed a little picture of me. Do you remember that?"
"Do I? I should say I did! And how you dropped it at a dance once, and I
had to crawl down under the palms in the conservatory to get it."
"And you in your dress suit, poor boy!" and Ruth laughed. "I should say
you might well remember it. But, Tom, this is serious," and she grew
grave at once. "I've lost that brooch!"
"Lost it--how?"
"Or, rather, it's been stolen, and I don't dare tell Phil. You know the
clasp was broken, or something was the matter with it. That's the reason
it fell off that time you had to hunt for it."
"And did it drop again? Tell me where, and I'll search until----"
"No, Tom, it wouldn't do any good," and Ruth sighed.
"Why not?"
"Because it's been stolen!"
"Stolen!"
"Yes. Listen. I feel dreadfully about it. You know it was a gift from
my grandmother. She is a dear, old-fashioned lady, and she has lots of
lovely old-fashioned jewelry. She always said she disliked the present
styles, and when she gave me that pin she made me promise to wear it,
and never be ashamed of it, even if it was a century old.
"Of course I promised, for the pin _was_ a beauty. And grandmother
always said that if I took good care of it, and wore it whenever I went
out, she would leave me her lovely string of pearls. Of course I would
have worn the pin without that. And now it's been taken!"
"Taken! By someone here at college?"
"Hush, not so loud! I gave it to a jeweler, a Mr. Farson, in
Haddonfield, to repair the clasp, and I just got word from him to-day
that it was taken. So I had to buy another pin to fasten my collar with,
and I'm so afraid Phil will notice it; or that grandmother may hear
about it! She'll say I'm careless."
"Did Farson have your brooch?" cried Tom.
"Yes. Why?"
"And did he tell you how it was taken?"
"Well, he said it was taken with a lot of other things that he had
collected from his customers to repair. He offered to get me another,
but of course I never can get one like that."
"Say!" exclaimed Tom, greatly excited. "Your pin must have been in that
box he left in his motor-boat, when the craft was wrecked on Crest
Island and when the Boxer Hall cups were taken. By Jove! This brings
that robbery home to me all right!" and Tom looked strangely at Ruth.