"Well, you're _going_ to play," answered Chub cheerfully. "And I'm pleased purple. A few of those nice long hits of yours to-morrow will do a heap of good, Roy." But Roy didn't seem to hear. "No one knows about this but you and Jack and me?" he asked. "That's all," replied Chub. "And if we don't say anything about it, then, no one else will know." "Don't say anything about it!" cried Chub. "Are you crazy?" "No, but there's the boat race to think of, Chub; we don't want to lose that, I guess. And if they take Horace out--" "Now don't you be a silly ass!" interrupted Chub in alarm. "Let them lose the old race! I reckon we don't want to lose the ball game either, do we? Now don't get sentimental and sloppy; Horace deserves all that's coming to him!" "Maybe," answered Roy, "but I guess we'll just keep this to ourselves, if you fellows don't mind." "But you won't be able to play!" "I know," Roy replied, "but I wasn't expecting to, you see. And--and, anyhow, I've got my sweater back!" "Sweater be blowed!" exploded Chub. "Don't be a fool, Roy! You're just fooling, aren't you, eh?" "No, Chub, I'm not. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but--but I don't think it would be fair to the school to tell on Horace and lose the race. I'd like to play mighty well, but--I guess we'll just keep this to ourselves, fellows!" CHAPTER XXV THE BOAT-RACE It was Saturday morning. Along the Ferry Hill shore, from the landing to a point half a mile further downstream where the finish flags flew, students and villagers, the former in most cases accompanied by friends or relatives, stood, sat or strolled at points of vantage. On the river white-sailed skiffs, chugging launches, gaudy canoes and more sober rowboats darted and drifted across the sunlit water. It was the hottest sort of a June morning and only the steady little northerly breeze kept the heat from being intolerable to the spectators along shore. The crews had gone up the river half an hour before, the men making the trip to the starting point in comfortable launches, their shells streaking along in tow. The time for starting the race was already past and everyone about the finish was eagerly awaiting the distant boom of the tiny brass cannon aboard the referee's launch which would announce to them that the struggle had begun two miles away. From where Chub and Roy sat in the midst of a throng of onlookers on a high point of rock near the finish line the entire course was in sight save for a space where Fox Island hid it. Away up the broad blue ribbon of water tiny specks that danced and glittered in the blaze of sunlight told where the start was to be made, but only Sid, who was the proud possessor of a pair of dilapidated field-glasses, could tell one boat from another. At last there was an excited grunt from that youth. "They're off!" he cried. "I saw the smoke from the cannon on the Sylph!"