But Taylor’s eyes were still on Dick, and he awaited that youth’s reply. Now that the moment had come to relinquish his honors Dick experienced a moment of revolt. He well knew what Taylor’s words meant; he was to be held to the terms of the offer made on his last visit. It was hardly fair, to be sure, since, with Kirk present, there was but one reply he could make. But after the first twinge of regret he was glad that it was so; the matter had been settled for him. He would resign the captaincy and Taylor should have it; he would still row in the boat, and, when the success of the crew was at stake, his sacrifice was but little after all. All this passed through his mind in the fraction of a second, and it was with but the slightest hesitation that he met Taylor’s look, and smiled across at him. The smile was prompted by relief and not by friendship; but this Kirk could not know, and so was heartily glad to see it; and concluded thereby that the quarrel between the two lads was at an end. “Yes,” said Dick, “I want you to come back. I’ve never wanted anything else.” “Do you mean that?” questioned Taylor’s eyes. “I do,” answered Dick’s. Kirk arose. “That’s settled, then, and I’m very glad. I don’t think you’ll regret it, Taylor. And I’ll look for you to-morrow afternoon, shall I?” “Yes, sir.” He accompanied them down to the door courteously, and bade them good-night smilingly from the stoop. When the two reached the street Kirk heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s over with,” he muttered. “Yes,” echoed Dick, “it’s over.” But Taylor didn’t report for crew work on the following afternoon. Instead, a message came saying that he had fallen while coming out of chapel, and had sprained his right knee. And Dick, wistfully watching the distant boat from his window, wondered whether Fate had changed its mind. CHAPTER XIX DEFIES THE LAW Dick strictly obeyed orders. He kept away from the river and contented himself with observing the progress of the crews through a pair of field-glasses from the study as long as the boats were down the river. When they passed up he went across the hall and called on Williams, always popping himself down on the window-seat and always remaining until the first or second boats had once more returned down stream. Williams informed him dryly that he was honored by his visits, but not greatly interested in his conversation, which consisted upon such occasions of monosyllabic replies, usually made with his head half a yard out the window. As far as not thinking of rowing was concerned, it was a downright impossibility; but he did try not to talk about it, and was assisted by Trevor. “How’d it go to-day?” Dick would ask with elaborate carelessness. “Don’t know,” Trevor would grunt. “Do you think Milton did better?” “Can’t say.” “I noticed you rowed about thirty-four going up.” “Did we?” “Did you? Don’t you know you did? Don’t you know anything?” Dick would exclaim in disgust. “Not on that subject, so shut up!”