"Well, Mrs. Binney," interrupts a well-known voice, "this is something like, eh? I don't know whether you know that if you've got any microbes or things of that sort in your system a wind like this blows 'em all away." "I didn't know it, Mr. Stubbs," says Mrs. Binney, with a pleasant smile. "But I have no doubt the wind is a very good thing if only it wouldn't blow all one's hair about one's face so?" "Ah, dear lady!" says Dizzy, "you may consider yourself lucky you've got any hair _to_ be blown about. Now look at the top of _my_ old pepper-box. I haven't had to use a comb for a year, and I shall soon be able to part my hair with a towel. You wouldn't like to be like that, would you?" "No," says Mrs. Binney. "But you are very young to be going so bald, Mr. Stubbs. What do you attribute it to?" It appears that Dizzy attributes his growing baldness to hard work and care combined, but just as he is explaining this to the sympathetic Mrs. Binney the steamer shuts off steam and is turned and backed with a good deal of commotion into her berth just by Barnes Bridge. There is another hour to wait, but the time goes by somehow. The party stamp about the deck and huddle themselves up in coats and cloaks to keep themselves warm, and by-and-bye a muffled roar from a mile away down the river, warns them that the boats are drawing near. The roar deepens and increases, and by-and-bye, leaning over the rail of the steamer, they can see the rhythmic flash of oars in the sunshine, and nearer and nearer come the two boats, with the Umpire's launch fussing along just behind them, and the four steamers which follow the race in the background, the Cambridge steamer--_absit omen!_--some way behind the rest. Now they are alongside, and a mighty cheer goes up from all the throats in Mr. Binney's steamer as they pass, and Cambridge is seen to be leading by half a length. Just here Oxford makes a spurt, and creeps up level. Cambridge answers it, and on they go under Barnes Bridge, fighting every inch of the way, as they have done ever since the starting gun sent them off like greyhounds from the leash, four miles down the river at Putney. Our party spends five minutes of breathless expectation, after boats and following steamers have passed out of sight, and then another cheer, louder than the first, goes up as the light blue flag slowly unfurls itself from the flag-staff at the finish of the course, and the dark blue is run up underneath it. Then mutually congratulating one another with every expression of delight and fulfilled expectation, our party steam away down the river, very well pleased with their afternoon's amusement.