# The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 9
#### CHAPTER IX
##### ON CREST ISLAND

"What do you mean?" cried the girl, impressed by Tom's strange manner.
"Why, didn't you hear? This jeweler had been going about collecting work for repairing, and left a lot of it in a box in his boat. Then he was called away suddenly, and remained away over night. A flood came up, swept his boat away, wrecked it on Crest Island, and we four fellows found it there. But the jewelry case was empty. Didn't you hear that—and about the Boxer Hall cups?"
"I believe I did," answered Ruth, slowly. "But I did not know then, that my brooch was in that box. Oh, Tom, do you suppose it could be on Crest Island?"
"I don't know, Ruth. The box was empty when we found it, and we think someone located it before we did, and rifled it."
"Oh, Tom, my dear pin! If grandmother hears I've lost it she'll never forgive me—and then her pearls, too; not that I care so much about them, ​but this pin was given her by her husband, when they were courting, and she thought the world of it. It was made abroad, of a peculiar pattern, and never could be replaced. It was an heirloom, and she must have thought a lot of me to let me take it.
"Oh, I just can't bear to tell her it is gone! Maybe we can find it. Perhaps it is on the island yet. Maybe it dropped from the box. Tell me; was Phil along when you found the box?"
"Yes, but of course he didn't know that anything of yours was in it."
"Then please don't tell him. He might think I ought to tell grandmother about it—he's so peculiar. And I will tell her, if worse comes to worst, and I can't get it back. But, oh, Tom! do you suppose it could be on the island?" and she looked eagerly at him.
"If it's there I'll find it!" declared the tall pitcher, perhaps with more zeal than discretion.
"And don't you tell a soul!"
"I won't," he promised.
"Could you take me with you, Tom? I'd like to help you hunt for it."
"Of course," he said, promptly. "The weather is getting fine now. We'll row over to the island some day, and make a search. But that pin isn't going to be easy to find."
"No, I realize that, Tom. But it will make me ​feel better to help look for it. Oh, how careless of that jeweler to leave his things in the boat!"
"It was, in a way, but he could not tell he was going to be summoned away, nor that the flood would come. I feel sorry for him."
"So do I, but—I want my brooch back," and Ruth smiled at Tom. "Now don't say anything, and don't notice my new pin—at least in front of Phil," she stipulated. "If I can get the old one back, then it will be time enough to tell him. Oh, here he comes now, with Madge. Yes, I think the dance will be perfectly fine!" exclaimed Ruth, in loud tones, to change the conversation for the benefit of her brother and Madge. Tom took his cue instantly, and the four were soon engaged in a lively conversation, Ruth, meanwhile, telegraphing signals to Tom with her eyes, while she arranged a bit of her lace collar over the new pin, so that her brother would not notice it.
Plans for the dance being duly made, the boys took a regretful departure. But it was high time, for Miss Philock sent one of the teachers to Ruth and the girls, to tell them that visiting hours were over.
"Until the next time!" called the girls, as the boys walked off.
"And, Tom," whispered Ruth, "don't forget."
"I'll not!" he promised.
"Hello, what's up between you and Sis?" asked Phil, quickly.
​"Oh, we're just arranging a little expedition," was the answer of his chum.
But Tom could not carry out his plan of taking the girl to Crest Island the next day. It rained, and baseball practice was ordered in the cage at the gymnasium.
As I do not, in this book, intend to devote much space to baseball at Randall (seeing that I have fully discussed several games in other books of this series), it is sufficient to say that all of our friends played on the 'varsity nine, together with some new students, and that Randall bade fair to win the championship at this time. Which she later did, though not without hard work.
Then came several days of practice in the eight-oared shell, and in the four, the double, and singles, which had, in the meanwhile, been received. There was much enthusiasm, and Mr. Lighton had to press in as coaches some post-graduate students who knew rowing fairly well. But he himself gave his time to the eight. A number of other lads had been tried in it, and among those who had taken the first practice spin several shifts in position were made.
But at last a fine, warm, sunny Spring day came, and Tom, after an early lecture one afternoon, arrayed himself in a costume suitable for rowing, and, with some cushions under his arm, set off for the boathouse.
​"Whither away?" asked Phil, as he surveyed his chum.
"Oh, out for a row," and Tom strove to make his voice indifferent.
"With cushions; eh? Want any company?"
"No, thanks, old man. No offense, of course," he hastened to add, "but——"
"None taken!" exclaimed Phil. "Guess I'll go get a girl myself."
As Tom neared the boathouse he met Sid and Frank.
"Want me to pull an oar?" asked the former, as he saw the tall pitcher.
"No. I can manage," and Tom proceeded to get out a light boat.
"I say, old man," put in Frank, with a wink at Sid. "Lend me one of those cushions; will you. I'm going——"
"You're going to get one of your own!" interrupted Tom. "I need these."
"You mean the lady does," added Sid, with a laugh. "Go on, you old deserter. We'll be going out in the shell, later."
"Will you?" exclaimed Tom. "I wonder if I'd better—Oh, go and be hanged to you!" he added. "I'll get practice enough," and he got into the boat and rowed away.
"Wonder where he's going?" spoke Frank.
​"Give it up," replied Sid. "Let's find Plill, and get ready for a spin."
Meanwhile Tom made good time to Fairview, and found Ruth awaiting him, he having previously telephoned to her to be in readiness.
"Oh, Tom, I wonder if we will have any luck?" she exclaimed, as they set off, her three girl chums watching her curiously.
"I hope so," he answered, "but, really, I can't hold out much. A brooch is so small, and Crest Island is rather large. But we'll look near the place where the box lodged. The pin may still be there."
It was not a short row to Crest Island, but Tom did not mind it. Indeed he was rather sorry when the place was reached. He lost no time in proceeding to the spot where he and his chums had picked up the jewelry box. The place seemed just the same, with no evidence of any other visitors. It was rather early for the Summer crowds to come, and none of the several cottages had opened.
The two spent some time in making a careful search, beginning at the point where the wrecked boat had been found, and working along both shores—that is, after a search at the spot where the box had been picked up. But no brooch rewarded their efforts.
"I guess you'll have to wait until the other ​things are located," said Tom. "Your pin may be among them."
"Let's walk on a little farther," proposed Ruth. "I want to look at Madge Tyler's cottage."
"Has Madge a cottage here?" asked the lad, in surprise.
"Her people have taken one for the Summer. Madge has invited us girls to spend several weeks with her. Where are you boys going this vacation?"
"To Crest Island!" replied Tom promptly, though, a moment before, he had had not the slightest idea.
"Oh, you're just saying that!" challenged Ruth.
"No, really I'm not!" he insisted. "If you girls are going to cottage here, I don't see why we can't camp. Other fellows do."
"Oh, it would be nice, of course," she admitted, as they strolled along. "There's the Tyler place," called Ruth a little later. "I recognize the description. Isn't it lovely?"
"Fine!" agreed Tom. "And that looks like a good camping place," and he indicated a spot not far off.
They soon gave up looking for the lost brooch, which, as Ruth said, was like searching for a needle in a haystack. They strolled some distance on the island, admiring the Summer cottages that would soon be open, and then turned back.
​Not far from the spot where Tom and his chums had found the rifled jewelry box Tom saw a sort of shack, or small hut, off between the trees.
"I wonder whose that is?" he ventured. "Let's go take a look."
"It doesn't seem very inviting," returned Ruth. "Perhaps some boatmen live there."
The shack was deserted, but a look through the grimy windows showed that it probably had an occupant, for there were some dishes on a table, some pans on a rusty stove, and, in through another room, could be seen some bunks.
"Probably a caretaker for the cottages," suggested Ruth, as she rested her hand on a window—sill, and idly pulled out some threads that had caught in a splinter. "Rather a strange sort of caretaker," she went in, "who wears silk—see, these are silk threads," and she held up a number, brightly colored.
"Where did you get those?" asked Tom, and the girl started at the strange note in his voice.
"On the window sill," she explained. "Why?"
"Oh—nothing," was his answer, but she noted that he took the threads from her, and carefully put them in a card case. "They might do to make a fishing fly with," he explained, after a pause.
"Oh," she said. They strolled around to the front door of the building to find it locked.
​"There's someone's card," remarked Ruth, as she touched a bit of pasteboard with the toe of her shoe. "Maybe it was on the door, telling at what hour the person who lives here would return."
"Maybe," agreed Tom, stooping to pick it up. "I'll fasten it back again. I wonder who does live here?"
Idly he turned the card over. Then he started in surprise, for the name that met his eyes was:
Reginald Boswell
"Who is it?" asked Ruth. "Anyone I know?"
"I—I fancy not," answered Tom, still staring at the card. "I wonder how that got here?" he mused. "And I wonder who lives in this shack? " and putting the bit of pasteboard in his pocket, he swung around.
"I guess we'd better be getting back," he said to Ruth. "It's getting late, and it's a bit of a pull. I'm sorry we couldn't find your brooch."
"So am I," she admitted, with a sigh. "But it can't be helped. Oh, how can I tell grandmother?"
She took Tom's arm, as the way was rough. They had not gone many feet before they heard someone approaching, tramping through the underbrush.
"Who can that be?" asked the girl.
"I don't know—we'll look," whispered Tom.