BY LAWRENCE PERRY
From The Red Book
Standing in the bow of the launch, Dr. Nicholls, coach of the Baliol crew, leaned upon his
megaphone, his eyes fixed upon two eight-oared crews resting upon their oars a hundred
feet away. From his hand dangled a stop-watch. The two crews had just completed a
four-mile race against the watch.
A grim light came into the deeply set gray eyes of Jim Deacon as the coach put the watch
into his pocket. Deacon was the stroke of the second varsity, an outfit which in aquatics
bears the same relation to a university eight as the scrub team does to a varsity football
eleven. But in the race just completed the second varsity had been much of a factor--
surprisingly, dishearteningly so. Nip and tuck it had been, the varsity straining to drop the
rival boat astern, but unable to do so. At the finish not a quarter of a length, not fifteen
feet, had separated the two prows; a poor showing for the varsity to have made with the
great rowing classic of the season coming on apace--a poor showing, that is, assuming the
time consumed in the four-mile trip was not especially low.
Only the coach could really know whether the time was satisfactory or not. But Jim
Deacon suspected that it was poor, his idea being based upon knowledge he had
concerning the capabilities of his own crew; in other words, he knew it was only an
average second varsity outfit. The coach knew it too. That was the reason his jaws were
set, his eyes vacant. At length he shook his head.
"Not good, boys--not good." His voice was gentle, though usually he was a rip-roaring
mentor. "Varsity, you weren't rowing. That's the answer--not rowing together. What's the
matter, eh?"
"I thought, Dr. Nicholls, that the rhythm was very good----"
The coach interrupted Rollins, the captain, with a gesture.
"Oh, rhythm! Yes, you row prettily enough. You look well. I should hope so, at this time
of the season. But you're not shoving the boat fast; you don't pick up and get her moving.
You're leaking power somewhere; as a matter of fact, I suspect you're not putting the
power in. I know you're not. Ashburton, didn't that lowering of your seat fix you? Well,
then,"--as the young man nodded affirmatively-- "how about your stretcher, Innis? Does
it suit you now?"
As Innis nodded, signifying that it did, Deacon saw the coach's eyes turn to Doane, who
sat at stroke of the varsity.
