And in confirmation of his statement a low _boom_ came down to them on the breeze. Everyone jumped to his feet and gazed intently up-stream. But only such as had glasses were able to throw any light on the situation up there. Sid was popular and voluble. "We're ahead, 'way ahead!" he cried excitedly. "About two lengths, I guess." "_Hooray!_" shrieked Patten. "No, we're not, either," said Sid lamely. "I was looking at a launch. I can't see our boat at all!" "O--oh!" groaned the others. "Yes, there it is! I think--it looks as though--" "Well, out with it!" commanded Chub. "I guess it's about a length behind," finished Sid. But when half the course had been rowed it was possible to identify the two boats without the aid of field-glasses. Side by side they were, or very nearly, and coming hard. Someone in the Ferry Hill shell was splashing occasionally; they could see the water dash up into the sunlight. Then, still rowing about even, they were lost to sight behind the island and suspense gripped the spectators. The seconds seemed minutes until, at last, the slim sharp bow of a boat shot into sight past the lower end of the island. Followed a breathless moment until the back of the bow oar appeared. Then the group groaned as one man. Bow wore a white shirt; the Hammond shell was in the lead. Clear of the island it came and still the rival boat didn't follow. "Guess our boat's sunk," muttered Chub nervously. Then another brown nose poked its way past the point and Ferry Hill, three lengths behind, but rowing hard, flashed into view. The crowd on the shore vented its relief in a long yell. Maddox, the tiny coxswain, his megaphone strapped to his mouth, was bending forward and urging his crew onward. But three lengths is a good deal to make up in the last quarter-mile of a hard race, especially when one of the crew is plainly ragged. "Just look at Hadden!" moaned Thurlow. "He isn't pulling a pound!" "Thinks he's a blooming geyser, I guess," said Chub disgustedly. "See him splash, will you? He's just about all in." But Hammond's stroke was also showing the effects of the work and was rowing woefully short. Inch by inch the brown shirts crept up on the white. At first, so slow was the gain, that no one noticed it. Then Chub let up a whoop of joy. "We're after 'em!" he cried. "We're gaining on 'em!" "Yes, but we can't cut down that lead," answered Roy, who had been freed from inner bounds for the race. "But we certainly are creeping up!" "You just bet we are!" shrieked Sid. "Why, we're only two lengths behind! We--we aren't that much!" "Length and a half," grunted Thurlow. The two boats were almost abreast of them now and only a couple of hundred yards remained. In and out dipped the red blades and the brown, forward and back bent the straining bodies, back and forth like shuttles slid the two red-faced, shouting coxswains. The strident tones of Maddox came up to those on the hillside: