How different it was from knocking about with Wilmot in the pair-oar! There was a feeling in the boat as if boat and oars and men worked in unison, a swift, steady, exhilarating, forward glide that gave the oarsmen a sense of power and skill. Every one worked intently with Caffrey’s eye upon him. Every stroke was a contest against one’s own treacherous faults, with the feel of the boat, the facility of the oar, the criticism of the coach as test of success. By this test Roger was satisfied that he had acquitted himself well. When, at the Cottage Farm bridge, the coach called, “Let her run,” he rested on his oars, with such a feeling of delight as he had not experienced even when Westcott’s won the Newbury football game, back in November. To make clear what happened during the rest of the row that day, and to set forth certain events of the remainder of the week, we cannot do better than transcribe Roger’s own letter to his mother, written on the following Sunday. Nine-tenths of it was about rowing, in which Mrs. Hardie could only feel the reflection of her son’s interest; and half of what she read she did not understand. Perhaps my reader can do better. “DEAR MOTHER: “This has been a great week for me, and I’m going to tell you all about it, though I can’t make you see it as I do. You know I got saved over for the pair-oar when the Westcott squad was narrowed down to two crews and a pair-oar, with coxes for each. This is the final narrowing down except that the day before the race the pair-oar bunch gets the hook. I had been slopping along in the pair-oar with Steve Wilmot, being more or less rotten all the season, never at all decent, and often for long stretches _absolutely_ ROTTEN, making both cox and Steve awfully sore, and doing much worse than the worst school crew on the river, which is saying a good deal. A few days ago I went out as usual and began badly, but after a while I seemed to catch on all at once, and began to row decently. We went a long way up river, and I kept on getting the habit of pulling somewhat right. By the time I got home my rowing had improved several thousand per cent. Pete saw me just as we came in (Pete is the captain) and seemed awfully surprised that I was doing so well. “The next day Eliot Weld was out with a sore finger, and they put me into his place in the second. Caffrey acted as cox, and I felt that if I ever was going to have a chance to show what I could do, I had it then. I did pretty well, I think, for Caffrey didn’t say much to me. The two crews went along together for a while, then the coach sent the first down and made us all stop and put on sweaters. Then he pulled out a clipping about the adoption of a new, unorthodox stroke in England by some of their colleges, and read it to us, making comments and illustrating and explaining. He had found some one who had the same idea he had and who believed in the same stroke that he tried to teach us.