Wyndham was not looking for victory to-day. Until last year she had always put four-oared crews on the water and had won her share of triumphs. Last year, however, a generous graduate had given the school two new eight-oared shells, thereby somewhat complicating Wyndham rowing affairs. Horner Academy, the Dark Blue’s chief rival on the water, was still sticking to fours, and it was therefore necessary either to give up Horner that spring or to let the new shells lie on the racks. Horner practically promised to have at least one eight-oared crew ready for the following season, and so, partly for that reason and partly because it would have looked like base ingratitude not to use the gifts, Wyndham changed from fours to eights, muddled through the early season without a race and finally entered her first crew in a three-cornered event on the Housatonic River and finished third only because there was no fourth entry. One of the Wyndham rooters declared bitterly that, after the winning crew crossed the line, he ate three hot dogs before the dark blue oars came into sight! Still later that spring Highland, which had been boating eights for several years, came down to Double Lake and inflicted a second defeat. But Wyndham rowed a better race that day and made the opponent hustle to show a length and a half of water at the finish. The Dark Blue had learned much since then, but graduation had taken her best oarsmen, and to-day, in the first boat, only Captain Badger, at stroke, and Billy Desmond remained of those who had trailed Highland. As for the second crew, well, it was hoped that a few of them would still be pulling when the shell reached the finish――always supposing, that is, it ever did reach it! But the eight occupants of the second boat――nine if we include young Carter, the cox――thought better of themselves than that. They seemed to have an idea that if they kept on digging their blue-tipped sweeps into the water long enough they could win the race. Of course, since only half of them had ever rowed in a shell before, this was a most astounding idea; so astounding that even Mr. McKnight, chemistry instructor and assistant rowing coach, who had charge of them, stared unbelievably from the launch when the two slim craft ahead passed the half-way flag apparently even. “Lovey” passed a hand over his eyes and looked again. There was no doubt about it, though; the stern of the Wyndham boat was not a yard behind the stern of the Highland shell. Not only that, but Wyndham was rowing as steadily as her rival, putting a lot of power into a twenty-eight stroke! About that time Lovey McKnight forgot his dignity, both the dignity befitting a faculty member and the dignity becoming to a coach, and was heard by other occupants of the Wyndham launch to babble wildly.