# The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 1

THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS

#### CHAPTER I
##### GREAT NEWS

"And after this—the deluge, I suppose," quoted Tom Parsons as he gazed moodily out of the window of his study, and watched the raindrops splashing on the ledge, running down the pipe, and forming one of many streams that trickled over the green college campus. "Is it never going to stop?" he went on, turning toward his three chums. "It's rained now——"
"Oh, for the love of differential calculus!" cried Phil Clinton, "can't you talk of anything but the weather, Tom? I'm sick of hearing it discussed."
"No sicker than I am of hearing it pour," retorted the first speaker.
"The rain certainly does seem to stick around," added Sid Henderson, as he endeavored to arise from a decrepit armchair—one of the twins—that added comfort to the college study. "I'm so damp, and altogether gluey, that it's all I can do ​to get up. Lend me a hand somebody!" he appealed.
"'Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears!'" recited Tom in the best schoolboy style. "Can't you manage to assist yourself, Sid; or are you getting too fat?"
"Fat! Huh! I guess if you'd trained the way I did for those track games you wouldn't be fat!" was shot out in protest.
"Train! Listen to him, Phil. Just because he won his big jump he thinks that's all there is. Why——"
"Hold on," put in Phil, quietly. "You fellows will get on each other's nerves if you continue. And you're certainly getting on mine. How do you expect me to bone away if you're going on like this? That fussy alarm clock is bad enough—I don't know why we tolerate the old thing anyhow—but when you two get to scrapping, and this confounded rain never lets up, why it's the extreme edge, so to speak."
"It is the rain, I guess," spoke Tom Parsons, in a low voice. "It's enough to get on anyone's nerves. A straight week now," and he drummed on the wet window-pane, while Phil turned over on an old sofa, that creaked dismally, and tried to get a better light on his book. But the gloom outside seemed to have found a place in the study room.
​"Easy on that ancient and honorable piece of furniture!" cautioned Tom, as he looked anxiously at the sofa, which seemed to groan in protest at Phil's weight. "It won't stand much more mending, and that's no idle dream."
"Don't worry," said Phil, easily. "I think as much of this sofa as any of you."
"Um!" grunted Tom moodily, as he crossed over to the other armchair and threw himself into it at no small risk of going through the seat. "What's a fellow to do?" he asked.
Neither of his chums answered him. Sid had managed to rise without anyone's aid, and was examining a pile of books, as though trying to pick out the one containing the easiest lessons.
"Where's Frank?" asked Tom, after a silence.
"I saw the Big Californian crossing the campus awhile ago," replied Phil, closing his book and yawning. "He was bundled up in a raincoat, and seemed as chipper as a clam at high tide."
"Wish I had the spunk to go out," commented Sid. "The river must be nearly flood-high by this time, with all the water that's fallen."
"Water! Ugh! Don't mention it," begged Tom.
Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the ticking of the fussy little alarm clock. There was the rustle of the pages, as the two lads, studying, turned to various lessons. Tom got up with ​an impatient exclamation, and passed into one of the four small bedrooms that opened out of the main study.
"I think I'll take a chance and go out!" he announced. "It's as dull as ditchwater in here. You fellows are about as cheerful as a wake."
"Um!" grunted Phil. Sid did not take the trouble to reply.
"That's right. Be grumpy!" said Tom, sarcastically.
Clearly the weather was getting on the nerves of all of them. And small wonder, for it had rained almost steadily for a week, and the stone piles that made up Randall College seemed soaked through to the very wall paper. The campus was like a sponge, and the walks, where they were not gravel, were ribbons of mud.
"Lucky we got our Spring games over with, before this flood set in," went on Tom.
There was no answer.
"What's the matter; have you fellows lost your tongues?" he demanded, sharply.
He paused in the act of slipping off a lounging coat preparatory to putting on an outdoor garment. Sid and Phil avoided his glance. At that moment the door into the hall opened and there stepped into the study a big lad, attired in a raincoat, that dripped moisture at every seam.
​"Hello, Duck!" greeted Sid with a cheerful grin.
"Where have you been, Frank?" asked Tom. "I was just coming out to join you."
Evidently this was Frank Simpson, the "Big Californian," the reason for the nickname being obvious.
"Come ahead—all of you," invited Frank. "It isn't so bad, and I guess it's going to clear up."
"I believe you're right!" agreed Tom, and there was an instant change in his voice. "It has almost stopped. Come on!" he cried. "You fellows stop boning, and we'll make a party of it. It's early yet, only the clouds make it seem dark."
"Wait a minute," suggested Frank, as he saw that the others were likely to fall in with Tom's idea. "Have you fellows heard the news?"
"Has Moses granted a Roman holiday?" asked Sid.
"Or has Pitchfork consented to resign?" added Phil.
"Neither one. This is the greatest news ever. And it's just the kind of a day to impart it, for it has to do with water. Fellows, do you think Randall could get into the rowing game—I mean as it ought to be gotten into? Do you think we could make up a crew—or two crews for that matter—an eight and four—that could put it all over Boxer Hall and Fairview Academy? Do you think ​we could turn out some four-and-eight-oared victors?"
Frank paused in his enthusiastic questions, and gazed at his chums through a mist of moisture that seemed to emanate from his damp person.
"Do you?" he repeated, for they were silent.
"What does he mean?" asked Tom.
"He speaketh in riddles," added Phil.
"Mayhap he but jesteth," came from Sid.
"No joke at all," said Frank with a smiling good nature. "This is the very latest news, and I think I'm one of the first fellows to hear it. Listen and I will a tale unfold."
"Well, as long as it's only a tale you're going to unfold, and not that wet raincoat, proceed, most noble Brutus," begged Tom.
"Oh, let up with the jollying, and let's hear the news," suggested Phil.
"In brief, then, it's this," went on Frank. "A number of old grads, who, it seems, used to be fonder of rowing and sculling than anything else when they were at Randall, have had a meeting, and they decided to subscribe ten thousand dollars to fit us up with a dandy boathouse and shells—that is if we'll consent to accept——"
"Accept! I guess yes, with running shoes on!" cried Phil.
"There's a sort of a string attached to it," went on Frank.
​"What is it? Do we have to raise an additional ten thousand dollars?" asked Tom, suspiciously.
"No, nothing as hard as that. But we have to form a regular rowing association, and promise to work our level best to be the champions of the river and lake. Shall we do it?"
For a moment there was silence. And then Tom cried:
"Of course we will!"
"Why shouldn't we?" demanded Phil.
"Say, this is great!" came from Sid. "Randall going to have a crew at last! It's about time. But I say," he went on, "it's too late this term to think of it. Why we only have a few more weeks before the Summer vacation."
"I know it," replied Frank, "and the idea is to get things in shape the remainder of this term, and have a regatta early in the Fall, before the football season opens. I think we can induce Boxer Hall and Fairview to enter into that sort of agreement, even if those two colleges do row each other every Spring."
"Good idea," commented Tom.
"Say, Frank, how comes it that you know all this?" asked Sid.
"Merely by accident," answered the Big Californian. "I was coming across the campus just now, plowing along through the water with my head down, and I ran plump into Moses and Dr. ​Marshall. I begged their pardons, of course, and was about to go on when Moses, looking at the doctor, said:
"'Perhaps we had better tell him, and have him sound some of the others.'"
"I began to pick up my ears at that and wonder what was in the wind. And when Dr. Marshall came back with: 'It wouldn't be a bad idea,' I knew something was up. The upshot of it was that Moses took me into his confidence. Ahem!" and Frank swelled up his chest.
"Go on, you rooster!" commanded Tom.
"Tell us about the crew," begged Sid.
"Well, that's it. Dr. Churchill said he had just received the offer from a number of the wealthy old grads. who, it seems, got together, had a sort of meeting, and voted that the decline of water activity at Randall College was a shame.
"It seems that they used to be regular sharks at rowing in their day, and they passed a resolution that, whereas Randall had done well at baseball, football and in track athletics, nevertheless she was a back number when it came to rowing.
"Therefore, 'be it resolved, and it is hereby resolved,' and all that sort of thing, you know. Then they subscribed the ten thousand dollars, and the only condition is that we promise to do our best to become champions."
"Which we'll do without question," said Tom.
​"Of course," added Phil.
"But it's going to take a lot of work," commented Sid. "We'll need all the time between now and Fall to get in shape. But what can we practice in? We haven't any decent shells."
"We can get some second-hand ones for practice," said Frank, " and I understand the old grads will have the new ones ready for us in the Fall, together with the new boathouse. We can also practice during our vacation."
"Good!" cried Tom. "It makes me feel better already. I want to get out on the water right now."
"And a little while ago you thought there was altogether too much water," commented Phil, drily.
"Oh, well," excused Tom, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I say, it is clearing!" he cried. "Come on down and get into a boat. Even one of the old tubs will answer, and we can talk this thing over."
"That's what I came in to propose," said Frank. "As we are among the older students here, it will be sort of up to us to spread the idea. I think everybody will take to it, though."
"It's about time we took a fall out of Boxer Hall on the water," declared Sid. "Fairview isn't in it so much, though she came mighty near beating Boxer in the eight one year."
​The rain had ceased, there probably being no more water left in the sky, as Sid remarked. The four chums—the "Inseparables," as they were called, slipped off their lounging jackets—at least Sid and Phil did, for Tom already had done so—and soon all were on their way to Sunny River, on the bank of which the various buildings of Randall College were situated. Over the soggy campus they took their way, meeting no one, for no one else seemed to have the courage to venture out.
Though the institution had not boasted of a rowing association, or crew, in some years, there was a boathouse, and a number of craft owned by the students, and its was toward this structure that our friends betook themselves.
"Let's take the big barge," suggested Tom. "Then we can all get in it and talk."
"It's as heavy as lead," complained Phil. "It will be all right rowing down stream, but coming back we'll have a hard pull."
"What of it?" demanded Frank. "It will be good practice for us if we're going to try for the crew."
"That's right, we will have to make tries to see who are the best oarsmen," remarked Tom. "I wonder if Mr. Lighton is a good coach when it comes to rowing? I know he's all right at football and baseball, but——"
​"I believe Dr. Churchill mentioned that if we took up this offer, one of the old grads, who was a crackerjack oarsman in his day, might come and give us some pointers," put in Frank.
"Well, let's get out. Say, but the river is high, though," Tom exclaimed, as they came in sight of the stream. The rain of the past week had raised it considerably, and it was now rushing swiftly along, a muddy stream, far from bearing out its name—Sunny.
"The barge is as safe as a ferry-boat," commented Sid. "It can't upset."
"All right, I'm game," declared Tom. "Let's row down to Tonoka Lake, and see what's going on there."
This lake was a large body of water into which the river emptied—in fact it was more like the widening of the stream than a real lake, but a lake it was called in spite of that. In its centre was Crest Island, of good size.
Soon the four students were in the barge, a four-oared craft, with enough seats so that the quartette could row with an oar each, after the manner of those in a shell.
"Take out the rudder," directed Frank. "We'll have to make our own course, for it can't be worked by one's feet as in a four-oared shell."
Phil unshipped the rudder, and they rowed out into the middle of the stream. It was easy going ​down with the current, but they realized that it would be harder coming back. However, they were out for practice as much as anything else, and did not mind a stiff pull.
"I wonder what sort of a stroke we pull?" said Tom, as they rowed on.
"Oh, we probably have lots of faults," admitted Frank. "But they can be corrected."
"It's a pretty big chunk to bite off—to think of beating Boxer Hall, where the fellows have been rowing for years, and we just starting in," commented Sid.
"Oh, stranger things have happened," declared Tom. "We can do it."
Then began a spirited discussion of the splendid offer that had been made to Randall, and a talk as to what the other students would think of it. The four chums were enthusiastic over the prospect.
"Say," called Tom, after a bit. "This is all right, and lots of fun, but we've come down quite a way, and we've got to think of going back. This current is fierce."
"Quitter!" called Phil.
"Nothing of the sort—I've got common-sense," was the retort.
"Tom is right," said Frank Simpson, in a quiet voice. "We mustn't overdo the thing. It is going ​to be a stiffish pull back, and we don't want to be late for dinner—I don't anyhow."
They had rowed down to where the river widened into the lake. There was a Summer picnic ground near here, and on the higher slopes of land, back from the water, were a number of fine residences, the estates running down to the shore edge. Many of the places had boathouses.
As the boys came opposite one of these they saw a small motor-boat turn in toward a shelter, the doors of which were open. There was a lone man in the boat, and he skillfully directed her course across the current.
"Let's pull overe there and rest before going back," suggested Sid, and the others agreed. They reached the boathouse and dock in time to see the man in the motor-boat close and lock the door, with his craft inside. Apparently he did not notice the boys, who were working to get in on the downstream side of the float, so they could be out of the current for a little while.
"There," remarked the man from the motorboat, as he walked out of the shore-door of the house, also locking that after him, "I guess things will be safe in there until I come back. I won't be gone long. Maybe I ought to take them with me but they're heavy, and I've got to go up hill—I guess I'll leave them," and he started up the ​slope from the river, toward a fine residence on the hill.
"He must have money in the bank—talking to himself that way," remarked Tom, in a low voice.
"I wonder what it is he's leaving in his boat?" spoke Phil.
"He trusts us, anyhow," laughed Frank.
"He didn't see us," came from Sid. "Anyhow the place is locked."
The boys rested there by the boathouse for several minutes.
Tom was about to propose that they start back, for it looked cloudy again, as if the rain would begin once more. But before he could mention this fact Sid exclaimed:
"Here comes the Boxer Hall shell! Say, look at those fellows row!"
"They are hitting up the pace!" agreed Frank.
All looked to see a fine eight-oared shell fairly scudding over the water under the impulse of the sixteen sturdy arms of the rowers.
"We'll soon be doing that," said Phil, in a low voice. And then some of the lads in the shell looked over and saw our friends.