“I think they’ll have a chance for all the work they want to do. I’ll try to satisfy even Roger.” Bow oar reddened, but said nothing. He knew well that Pete would push the crew to its last gasp, and he had doubts as to his ability to hold his own with the hard-muscled, strong-headed stroke, who was as incapable of yielding as the Old Guard of surrendering, or the dying bulldog of relinquishing his grip on his enemy. There was one method, of course, by which Roger could meet the strain, and come out fresh at the end to smile at Pete’s challenge. He might weaken just a little on his pull as the labor told, might put a trifle less than his best into his stroke, and thus shrewdly save himself from extreme exhaustion. But to do that was to be a quitter, and bow oar’s scorn for a quitter was equal to Pete’s. “I’ll give him all I’ve got, anyway,” he said to himself. “If I break, it will be because I can’t row any more, not because I won’t.” There was trouble in starting. Westcott’s and Bainbridge got twice into position and drifted away again before the others, shuffling for places, reached the line. Waterville was badly cox-swained; Newbury apparently loitered on purpose, hoping, after the manner of certain Varsity crews at New London, to worry opponents by prolonged suspense. So at least Pete opined, and his word, passed back through the boat, set four pairs of jaws tight together and swamped all nervous fear under a hot wave of determination. When the pistol-shot rang forth, Newbury’s oar-blades were already in the water. As the stroke lengthened out, after a hundred yards, Newbury and Bainbridge were neck and neck, half a length ahead of Westcott’s, which was rowing a steady, smooth stroke which looked like an exhibition of skill, yet carried with it the united heave of four straining bodies. “Those Westcott fellows aren’t bad,” said Deering, who stood beside reporter Billy and watched the struggling oarsmen with the eye of an expert. “They move well, catch together, and get their hands away quickly.” “Good crew!” answered Billy, wisely, “but too light to last well. They’re coming up on Newbury now. It’s about time for Bainbridge to shake ’em both.” Deering was silent for some seconds, gazing with that concentration of attention which a horse fancier gives to the movements of a blooded steed. “That crew is going to be hard to shake,” he said finally. “They’ve got a half length on Newbury without raising the stroke more than a point. There’s hardly any check between strokes.” “And Bainbridge has got a length,” said Billy, significantly. In the Westcott boat Rust was urging Two to be careful about his slide, and informing Talbot of the relative position of the crews. Pete raised the stroke slightly, and his crew pushed a whole length ahead of Newbury, which likewise spurted, but lost through inferior form the advantage gained by the accelerated stroke.