“_Hit her up! Hit her up! Hit her up!_” Dick, his face streaming with perspiration, his hands burning on the oar-handle, peeked out of the corners of his eyes to the left for a glimpse of the screaming cox. But not yet. His boat was gaining, swiftly, steadily, but three lengths is a long distance to cut down with your rivals rowing at forty strokes to the minute. “Lengthen out, Stroke!” called Keene. The seven rowers steadied down and swung longer. The mile and one half point was already far astern, and Keene could see the faces of the crowds at the finish distinctly. For the first time since the start he met Dick’s eyes and smiled. Then, and as it seemed to Dick, from almost at his side, came a shrill cry: “Eyes in the boat, Seven! Finish out, Six, finish out!” It was the St. Eustace coxswain, and at the same moment a speck trembled just within the field of Dick’s vision at the left. The next instant it took shape; he could see the rival boat’s rudder, a portion of the stern, with the steering lines white and gleaming in the sunlight. They were almost even! He was conscious of a new sound, quite distinct from the working of the slides, the rattle of the locks and the rush of oars--a confused murmur that gradually took shape and resolved itself into the cheering of human voices. Surely the finish-line was at hand! He glanced at Keene. That youth, white beneath the tan of his face, with perspiration standing upon his forehead in little glistening beads, was looking straight ahead, with every thought straining toward the goal. “Now, once more, all!” screamed the St. Eustace coxswain. “Pick her up! You’re not half rowing! Five, steady down! Four, you’re late, you’re late! Row! Row!” And then the little red-haired youth also crept into Dick’s sight; a pale-faced, despairing figure, crouching there in the stern, bobbing forward and back as though to hurl his boat across the line by his own unaided efforts. One glance at his face brought a flood of joy to Dick! St. Eustace was already beaten--and that white-faced cox knew it! In the next minute a qualm of pity for the struggling opponents came to him, only to be swallowed up in a great wave of triumph as he found himself opposite to the St. Eustace stroke. The three lengths were gone and the two boats were even at last!