Both my friend and myself would have treated such a proposal for a scratch race with extreme contempt; but not so our coxswain. His keen nature always craved excitement, and he eagerly accepted the randan's challenge. I told him that it was all nonsense, and not worth doing; but race he would. I then warned him that a race to Marlow was a long one, and that I should pull a slow stroke, so that he must not be surprised if the other boat got a long way ahead. I knew that my bow could pull steadily any stroke that was set him. We were both rowing a good deal at that time, and were in decent training. The preposterous race commenced; a thing that would have been comic, but for the intense eagerness and feverish excitement of our eminent but nervous little coxswain. His eyes grew large, he breathed short, his face was pale. If something of moment had depended upon the race he could not have been more in earnest. One annoying result of his mental condition was, that he kicked and stamped about, and rocked the boat. I cautioned, and entreated him to sit quietly; but I preferred a request with which he could only with difficulty comply. As I expected, the randan started pulling with all its might; and soon went away from us. Poor Walker was in despair. He saw the other boat apparently gaining fast, and he was seized with twitchings. In a voice weak with anguish, he implored us to "wire up, you fellows; wire up! Oh, you don't know how far they're getting ahead. For Heaven's sake, pull all you know!" He was depressed and dismayed, and was really unhappy. I could not talk much, I could only growl out an occasional adjuration to "be quiet!" an injunction with which he complied the better because he thought that we were losing fast. I continued pulling very steadily a long stroke of about twenty-nine, and was well backed up. The other boat still went ahead, and poor despondent Walker was almost in tears. [Illustration: SURLEY.]