The air was full of the cheers of the excited watchers and the blatant screams of the whistles of surrounding craft. To Dick it was all a confused babel of awful sound. He had closed his eyes, fearing to see the rival boat slipping from sight. But now, gathering courage, he looked. They were in a lane of assembled craft, from which arose streams and clouds of steam; beyond the noisy gathering the river bank was lined with moving throngs; beside him---- His heart sank; the St. Eustace boat was gone! The little bobbing coxswain, the toiling stroke oar, were no longer beside him! He looked despairingly at Keene; something in the latter’s expression sent his glance beyond, and joy rushed back to his heart. The rival boat was a length behind! He closed his eyes again from sheer happiness, and tugged on at the oar. The uproar was deafening, but suddenly, above it all, he heard the coxswain’s voice: “_Let her run!_” * * * * * When he looked up again, raising his head from his hot, trembling hands, he found to his surprise that his eyes were wet. They were in shadow now, and he glanced up to find the arches of the bridge above them. The noise was less. He blinked through wet lashes at Keene. The latter was grinning happily, foolishly. “Length and a quarter, about,” he said. From the bridge overhead and from the throng beyond came cheers for Hillton. CHAPTER XXVIII TREVOR IS COMFORTED It was an hour short of sunset when Trevor awoke. The room was darkened, but now and then the curtain at the open window was stirred by the languorous breeze and admitted a broad bar of sunlight which lengthened across the floor and was gone again as the curtain fell back into place. The hotel was almost silent, though at intervals the hum of voices came subduedly to the boy in the bed, and at times he caught the clatter of dishes. For many minutes he lay quiet. Everything was very peaceful and soothing, and he closed his eyes once more, but only to reopen them as his mind took up his work again. Where was he and how came he there? It wasn’t his room at Hillton; this wasn’t his narrow iron bed; the wall-paper was all wrong; the carpet was different, and the window was entirely out of place. And then, too, it was much too big, this high-ceilinged, square apartment. He raised himself on his elbow and examined his surroundings. He was quite alone, but on a small table beside him were two tumblers half full of something, a pitcher, two silver spoons, and a watch.