The shouting from the shore was louder, and Dick could distinguish the cheers of his schoolmates from the slogan of St. Eustace’s supporters. But how he wished for the end! His breath seemed gone, and every respiration shook his body from head to feet. The perspiration on his face had turned to little drops of ice-water. The river danced and wavered in his sight. His arms were like bars of lead, and his legs from hips to toes seemed no longer connected with the upper portion of him, but were dead, benumbed; he could have put his hand on the very place where they had been cut off. Surely they were at the line now! Surely it was time to get into the lead! He glanced appealingly at Keene. The latter drew the port rudder-line to him slowly for an inch. Then he turned toward the speeding boat beside him and looked it over, up and down; Two was splashing badly; Four was rolling on his seat like a drunken man; Stroke was plainly worked out; his eyes met those of the red-haired cox; the latter glared across at him vindictively. He turned again and ran his eyes over his own boat: Bow was weakening, but still steady; Six was struggling blindly with half-closed eyes; the balance of the seven were still strong for that period of a two-mile race. He looked ahead at the boats and the bridge above, dark with humanity. “Two hundred yards!” shrieked the St. Eustace coxswain. “Now pick her up! We’ve got the race if you’ll only take it! Stroke, for Heaven’s sake, man, pick her up! Row!... Row!... Row!” Two hundred yards! Dick looked at Keene; the latter nodded. Dick rattled his hands away quickly. “Hit her up all!” cried Keene. “Here’s the finish! Row now, row for Hillton! We’ve got to win!” “Now then, fellows!” gasped Dick. His blade went under for a hard, desperate stroke, and the next moment seven bodies were straining at the oars in a last, heroic endeavor. “Well done, all! Keep it up! Keep it up! Once more! Well rowed, fellows! Well rowed! We’re gaining! Use your legs! Well rowed!” Keene’s voice arose loud and full of encouragement. From across the little path of intervening water came the shrill reiterant appeals of the other coxswain: “Hard! Hard! We’ve got them! Keep going! Another stroke or two! Hard! Row hard!”