“All right,” answered Dick dejectedly. “If you think I’d better; though, as far as I’m concerned, I don’t think there’s any necessity for it.” “Of course you don’t; never saw a man who did. But we’ll call it a whim of mine, if you like. Well, that’s settled. Don’t come near the river; don’t talk about rowing, and don’t even think of it if you can help it; take a walk every day, or a run, and do just enough work at the weights meanwhile to keep your muscles stretchy. Do you think Crocker will be a good man to put in at stroke while you’re out of it?” “Yes,” answered Dick. “You know I had him rowing there during vacation; he did first-rate.” “All right. I think we’d better pick the first and second crews next week and send them to training-table. It’s rather earlier than last year, but then we’re a bit more backward. Now, another thing. That fellow Jones is no earthly use in Taylor’s position; in the first place, he’s not varsity stuff; in the second place he can’t row to any remarkable extent, and there isn’t time to start in and teach him the rudiments of the art at this late day; in short, he’s out of the question. And I don’t know of any fellow that I care to try there. Do you?” “Not unless it’s Garvier of the second,” answered Dick. “He’s got the weight and he’s hard-working; he pulls a rather good oar, too; only--well, I’m afraid he lacks sand.” Kirk nodded and blew a volume of smoke toward the window. “I’d thought of Garvier, but your estimate of him is just about mine; as you say, I don’t think he’s got enough grit for Seven. When you come down to it Seven needs almost as much hard horse-sense, coolness, and judgment as does Stroke. In fact, the style of the crew depends more on him than on Stroke. I believe I’d rather put up with a poor Stroke than a poor Number 7. No, decidedly Garvier won’t do. How about Crocker?” “He might do, of course, only I think he’s about where he belongs now, don’t you, sir?” “Yes, I suppose so, although---- Well, there seems to be but one thing to do.” “What’s that?” asked Dick. “Get Taylor back. Now wait a moment, Hope. I don’t propose to interfere with you, not a particle.” “I hadn’t any such idea,” protested Dick. “All right. What I propose to do is to go with you to see this contrary beggar and make one more appeal to him; and if you say now that you’d rather not ask him again--for I can well understand your having feeling in the matter--I’ll drop the project and say nothing more about it; we’ll fight it out without Taylor. On the other hand, if you are willing to try again and don’t object to my--well, sticking my finger into your pie, as it were, we’ll go together and have it out with him. What do you say?”