“Hammond’s in the lead!” cried a voice from the sail-boat, where, clustered at the bow, a group of Hammond supporters were looking intently up the river. The one who had spoken, a youth in white flannels who held a pair of field-glasses to his eyes, was visibly excited. “Pshaw!” muttered Dick, disgustedly. “Don’t you believe it,” said Chub. “He can’t tell at this distance.” “He’s got glasses,” said Roy. “I don’t care if he’s got a twelve-inch telescope! He doesn’t know which side Hammond has got, and it isn’t likely he can tell red oars from brown at this distance. You wait until they get under the cliff up there, out of the sunlight, and then you can see for yourself.” By this time the excitement was beginning to tell on the spectators along the shore and at the finish. Cheers for Ferry Hill and for Hammond floated across the water, and flags began to wave. Then, a mile up the stream, the two four-oared crews suddenly shot their slender craft into the shadowed water and so became plainly visible to hundreds of anxious eyes. The boat having the inner course was leading by fully a length, it seemed, but whether that fortunate boat was Hammond’s or Ferry Hill’s it was still impossible to tell since the courses had been drawn just before the start and the result was not known down here at the finish. Behind the two crews came the referee’s launch, a white speck on the water. Now it was possible to see the rise and fall of the oars, and--a groan of disappointment arose from the Ferry Hill supporters. The leading boat was Hammond’s; the tips of the oars showed brilliantly red as they were lifted dripping from the water. Cheers for Hammond broke forth anew, and the cherry-and-black flags waved bravely in the hot sunlight. “Pshaw!” muttered Dick again. But Chub was still undismayed. “That’s all right,” he cried, excitedly. “You wait until they reach the three quarters and then see what will happen. Ed’s letting them wear themselves out. He will catch them before the finish, all right.” But the three quarters flag was swept astern and still the Hammond crew held the lead; and, moreover, it was plain to all that Ferry Hill’s four was rowing raggedly: Warren at three was splashing badly, and there was a perceptible let-up to the boat between strokes. Even Chub looked worried. “What’s the matter with Billy Warren?” he muttered. “Must think he’s a blooming geyser! Oh, thunder, Hammond’s just walking away from us! Doesn’t Ed see it? Why doesn’t he hit it up?” “Because he can’t,” answered Roy quietly. “Our fellows are rowed out; that’s what’s the matter.” “That’s right,” said Dick, sorrowfully; “we’re beaten good and hard. Well--”