“I don’t wonder. Just fancy, the beggar doesn’t show up half the time, while the rest of us poor dubs sit there and slave at those bally machines until our arms are pulled out of shape. I know mine are at least six inches longer than they were a month ago.” “How did you get on to-day?” “Fairly well, I fancy. Only it takes a long time to get used to your style of rowing. You see, it’s rather different from ours.” “Is it? Perhaps you’re not aware that we are supposed to row the English stroke?” Trevor raised his eyebrows. “The dickens you say? Well, I can’t see much resemblance, Dick. Why, you haven’t any body-swing; you make a chap’s legs do it all!” “Do we? Well, you must mention that to Kirk next Saturday; I dare say he’ll be glad to hear about it.” “Rot; I’m not finding fault; any old stroke will do me; I’m just saying that there’s a difference between the stroke that Beck and you teach and the English stroke that I’ve seen. Maybe yours is the better of the two. Here we are, Muggins. Now, be a good doggy until I see you again; and don’t pull any more blankets off the table, or Jim will lay it onto you with a strap.” Muggins had by this time grown inured to partings, and so only stood by the office stove and watched them disappear with head on one side and a sort of “Must you go?” expression in his eyes. “When do we get onto the river?” asked Trevor presently as they retraced their steps down the village street in the teeth of a northwest gale. “Depends; sometimes in early March, sometimes not until about April. You see, the ice makes it awkward. Kirk has got it into his head that we’ll get out early this spring; I don’t know whether he’s made any arrangements with the weather man.” “He’s older than I expected. Last year I was a bit surprised to see what a staid and venerable party he was.” “Well, he’s nearly forty, though I don’t suppose that’s exactly old--when you get used to it; they get even older, I’m told. But Kirk knows a good deal about rowing, and he has turned out some dandy crews, both here and at Harwell. When he was at school here he was captain of the eight in his upper middle and senior years, and at college he rowed four in his class crew the first year, went into the varsity boat the next, and stayed there until he graduated; he was captain in his senior year. Then he coached them for a while. This is his fourth year with us, and we’ve beaten St. Eustace twice and been beaten once in that time; and we’ll beat her again next June.” “I hope so,” said Trevor, “only I can’t see why every one seems so half-hearted about it. I don’t mean you or Beck,” he explained hurriedly, “but the fellows as a rule; they don’t seem to care much about it.”