But "Old Eli" had seemed to feel that it would be a lasting disgrace to be vanquished by anything about which there was an English flavor. The spirit of Bunker Hill and '76 was aroused, and the defenders of the blue were willing to die in the struggle if such a sacrifice could bring victory. It was not the first time that pure grit had won against odds. As the Yale boat crossed the line Frank lay, deaf to all the tumult of applause, his eyes closed, but still with his pale face set in a look of mingled pain and unyielding determination. "It's Merriwell!" exclaimed Bob Collingwood. "I had forgotten him." His words were drowned by the roaring of the excited thousands and the shrieking of the whistles. The prow of the Yale boat was turned toward the bank. It was necessary to avoid the craft that came rushing about on every side, but the shore was soon reached. "Hold her steady!" cried Collingwood. "Somebody dash water into Merriwell's face." The command was obeyed, and in a moment Frank opened his eyes. It was at the moment when the Yale cheer was pealing from a thousand throats, and the look of pain on Merriwell's face changed to one of satisfaction and joy. "Did we win?" he huskily asked. Collingwood nodded, his flushed face beaming, pride in his big blue eyes. "You bet!" he answered. "It's hard to beat Old Eli!" "I am satisfied!" gasped Merriwell. His eyes drooped, and he seemed on the verge of going off into another swoon. "Throw more water on him," pitilessly directed Collingwood. It was done, and Frank started up, gasping. "Here--here!" exclaimed a man on the bank; "give him a pull at this. It will fix him all right." He stooped down and held out a flask. "What is it?" asked Frank. "It's the best brandy money can buy," was the answer. It was passed to Frank, but he pushed it away, shaking his head. "I never touch liquor," he declared. "I do not want it." "But it will not hurt you now--it will do you good," declared the man who owned the flask. "I can get along without it." "But I shall be offended if you do not take it." Frank looked sharply at the man. He saw a suntanned individual, who wore a wide-brimmed hat and was dressed in clothes which were worn and appeared to have been made for service rather than for fit and elegance. There was something piercing about the man's dark eyes, and something about the beardless face that impressed it upon the boy's memory. There was a small purple scar on the man's chin, and Frank noted this, although he might have overlooked it easily in that hasty glance. "Then you will have to be offended, sir," said Frank, firmly. "I do not wish to appear rude, but I never drink under any circumstances, and I will not begin now." The man drew back after the flask was returned to him. The last look he gave the boy was peculiar, as Frank could not tell whether it was one of satisfaction or anger.