Their backs are certainly not all flat, and to an American eye the crew presents a ragged appearance as a whole; but a second glance shows that every back swings in one piece from the hips, and that the apparent raggedness is due to the fact that the men on the bow side swing in one line, while those on the stroke side swing in another parallel line. They sway together with absolute rhythm and ease, and the boat is set on a rigidly even keel. Our coach looks them over critically, especially his three college-mates, one of whom at least he hopes will be chosen for the 'varsity eight. No doubt he aimed at a blue himself two years ago, when he came up; but blues are not for every man, even of those who row well and strongly. He watches them until they are indistinguishable amid the myriad craft in the distance. "It's jolly fine weather," he concludes pleasantly, with a familiar glance at the sky, which you are at liberty to follow. "Come forward. Ready--paddle!" We are presently in the barge again with the other fellows. A repetition of this experience after half an hour ends the day's work. When I tried for the freshman crew in America, I was put with seven other unfortunates into a huge clinker barge, in charge of the sophomore coxswain. On the first day I was told to mind the angle on my oar. On the second day I was told to keep my eyes in the boat, damn me! On the third day, the sophomore coxswain wrought himself into a fury, and swore at me for not keeping the proper angle. When I glanced out at my blade he yelled, "Damn you, eyes in the boat!" This upset me so that I forgot thereafter to keep a flat back at the finish of the stroke. When we touched the float he jumped out, looked at my back, brought his boot against it sharply, and told me that there was no use in trying to row unless I could hold a flat back and swing my body between my knees. That night I sat on a dictionary with my feet against the footboard and tried to follow these injunctions, until my back seemed torn into fillets, but it would not come flat. I never went down to the river again, and it was two years before I summoned courage to try another sport. The bullyragging sophomore coxswain I came to know very well in later years, and found him as courteous and good-hearted as any man. To this day, if I mention our first meeting, he looks shy, and says he doesn't remember it. He says that the flat back is a discarded fetish in Harvard boating circles, that even before the advent of Mr. Lehmann cursing and kicking were largely abandoned; and moreover (_fortissimo_) that the freshman crew he helped to curse and kick into shape was the only one in ten years that won.