“I wish I was as certain of exams as I am that we’ll beat St. Eustace,” said Trevor. “By the way, Dick, the pater’s coming up for class day to see you graduate. Stewart, they’re going to draw for the tennis tournament to-night in Chandler’s room.” “How many entries are there?” asked Carl. “Twenty-two. I hope I don’t get drawn for the preliminary round, that’s all. I’d hate to get thrown out of it so early and have no----” “There she goes,” said Stewart, jumping up. The bell in the tower rang lazily, and the four entered Academy Building for two o’clock recitations. May had slipped into June, and June had brought fresh impetus in every outdoor pursuit. The school was rowing mad, just as it always was in June, and every day groups of fellows congregated at the boat-house or watched the proceedings from the path above. The trying period of instruction in a pair-oar at the hands of Malcolm Kirk or, as upon occasions, at those of Dick, was over and practice had simmered down to businesslike work in stretches of from an hour to two hours each day. It wasn’t all rowing; often the men leaned motionless over their oars while Kirk from the deck of the little Terrible talked to them for a quarter of an hour at a time on the error of their way. Always, nowadays, there was ten minutes or so of practicing starts; often the varsity and second were drawn up on the mark, and were given the word together; and alas for the boat that was behind at the tenth stroke! But it was the best of training, and the proficiency in quick starting which they finally secured stood them in good stead later.