# The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 29
#### CHAPTER XXIX
##### THE REGATTA

"Come on in, Bricktop, and help us settle the row," invited Sid.
"Row! I should say so!" cried the red-haired lad. "Who's been breakin' up th' furniture?" and he dropped into his broadest brogue.
"Tom here," laughed Frank. "He isn't satisfied with the way the eight rowed to-day."
"Faith! an' I guess none of us are," replied Bricktop. And then the five students fell to discussing the matter from all viewpoints. Presently Holly Cross dropped in, and then Kindlings, so with nearly the whole varsity crew present the room was well filled.
There were opinions pro and con, there were periods of doubt, to be succeeded by others of some hope. And the result of it all was that they decided they had underestimated Boxer Hall's prowess, and would have to "perk-up" and do more and harder practice in the time that was left.
Communicating this decision to Mr. Lighton ​the next morning, the lads found that he agreed with them.
"Mr. Pierson and I have talked it over," he said, "and we have come to the conclusion that to make a shift in the varsity eight now would be fatal. We must stand or fall by what we have. It is too late now. And, mind you, I am not so sure that even if there was more time that I would make a shift. I'm certain, in my own mind, that we have a championship boat. Now it's up to you lads to confirm my belief in you."
"And we will!" cried Tom, a sentiment that was echoed by his chums.
Then began at Randall a period of hard and exacting practice, such as had never been known before. The two coaches were fairly overworked, for by this time the first of the football squads was beginning to form. Many of the rowing lads were to play on the gridiron, but they were cautioned only to do light practice until after the regatta, as It would not do to have them overtrained.
The weather was exceptionally warm that September, just right for rowing and a little too close for heavy football work, so in one way Randall had an advantage as regards her crews. It was an advantage, though, shared by her rivals, for both Boxer Hall and Fairview had made up their separate minds to be champion of the river.
​Boxer Hall, to be sure, now held this title, having defeated Fairview in the annual water sports in the Spring. But now with the new triple league formed, the title of "champion" was more or less uncertain. Not until this Fall regatta could it be definitely settled.
It had been decided to follow the same rules and customs as obtained between Boxer and Fairview. That is, there were to be a certain number of races—singles, doubles, the four, and the eight-oared shells, and the count was to be as follows:
A total of twenty points was decided on. Winning the eight-oared contest would count ten, the single shells would add two points, the double would count as three and the four would secure five. So that it can easily be seen that the winning of the eight-oared race meant much. Of course if one college should come out ahead in the singles, doubles and four-oared races she would have ten points, and should another win the eight, the score would be tied. But the possibility of this was remote.
In addition there was to be a tub race, which would not count in the championship, but for which several prizes were offered.
But if Randall worked hard, so did her rivals. From the other two colleges came news of cross-country runs for the improvement of the wind of the rowers. The training was reduced to a more ​scientific basis. It was even rumored that Boxer Hall had imported a well-known physical instructor to assist the coach. And Fairview had summoned a number of old graduates, who had made their marks while at college, to assist in turning out a championship crew or crews.
Though the other races were regarded as important, most of the interest centered in the eight. Little was heard but about this shell, which in a way, perhaps, was unfair to the other rowers, who were practicing faithfully.
Much was heard about the advantage Boxer Hall and Fairview possessed, in that they had been rowing on the river for years. In a measure this was true, and Randall was under somewhat of a handicap in this respect.
Yet, in another way, it was a good thing, for Randall came into the game fresh, without any preconceived notions, and her boys had learned what they knew from the ground up. They were not hampered by college traditions as regards a certain stroke, and Mr. Lighton and Mr. Pierson had developed a logical one—differing somewhat from either Boxer Hall's or Fairview's—a combination of the two, modeled after the famous Cornell stroke.
And how Tom and his chums did work, train and practice! Lessons suffered in a way, but the lads were well enough along in college now to ​know that they could make them up that Winter. And Dr. Churchill, bless his big heart! Dr. Churchill was not too inquiring. On one occasion Prof. Emerson Tines went to the head of the school to complain that he would have to condition a number of his Latin pupils unless their work showed improvement.
"And most of them, my dear Dr. Churchill," he said, "are of the boating class. A lot of foolishness—a mere waste of time. It was bad enough with baseball and football, but now that rowing has started, it is worse than ever. I wish those old graduates had never made their gift!"
"Tut! Tut! My dear Professor!" remonstrated Dr. Churchill. "Rowing is a form of exercise that develops muscles never brought to the owner's attention in any other way. I have been reading up on the subject since the eleven has taken to the shell, and I find that the ancient Romans, in their galleys, had rowing down to a perfection rarely attained to-day. It is an ancient and honest sport, and I'm sure I hope our nine will win the regatta," and then, good old soul, unaware that he had mixed the football and baseball squads most woefully with the crew, turned to his work on his dictionary, which to-be-famous work had progressed as far as the Cha. to Dem. volume, and bade fair to be completed in about fifty years, but Dr. Churchill did not think of that.
​The chums were all tired enough this night to sleep, as Sid put it, without being rocked. They had retired early, for there was to be sharp practice the next day.
Lessons had been gone over, with as much attention as it was possible to concentrate on them, considering all that was going on, the alarm clock had been relieved of the "toothpick in its appendix," as Tom remarked, and it was cheerfully ticking away.
"Queer about that time the clock disappeared, when someone came in our room, and you took him for me; isn't it, Tom?" asked Sid, as he got his shaving apparatus in shape for quick use the next morning.
"It sure is. We've never had another visit from the unknown."
"And I hope we don't," put in Phil.
"Say, did you hear the latest?" asked Frank, as he untied the string of his shoe.
"No, is there going to be another shift in the varsity boat? " asked Phil.
"No, but a lot of the fellows have been missing little things from their rooms; scarf pins and the like. And the funny part of it is that it's all on the next floor of our dormitory. A regular epidemic, one of the fellows was telling me."
"Have we a kleptomaniac among us?" demanded Sid.
​"Maybe it's one of the new janitors," suggested Tom. "There's one that has a bad eye."
"Well, as long as they stay off this floor, we'll be all right," asserted Sid. "Only we'd better keep our valuables locked up."
"Anyhow, they can't take the old chairs and sofa," remarked Frank with a chuckle. "They're too heavy."
It seemed to be Tom's fate to see the end of the little happening, as it had been his to note the beginning. Late that night he was awakened by a noise in the main apartment. At first he paid no attention to it, and then, as he heard the rustle of papers, he thought of the time he had followed, as he thought, Sid, in the dark, cold corridors.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed to himself, as he sat up without making the bed creak. "He's at it again! And this time I'm going to find out who it is!"
"Softly he crept to the door of his room. He saw the same white-clad figure as before, standing near the window. This time he knew it was not Sid, although the two looked much alike. The only sound was the ticking of the alarm clock.
Then, as Tom watched, the figure approached the table once more. The change in the tone of the ticking of the clock told Tom what had happened.
​"He's got our clock!" thought Tom. "Here is where I catch him red-handed, so to speak."
The figure glided from the door into the hallway, and Tom followed, pausing but a moment to make sure that his three chums were in their beds. From their opened doors the sounds of three different styles of breathing assured him of this. Then he glided on.
Once more he followed the white-robed figure until it ascended the stairs to the story above, but this time Tom was close behind when the door opened.
"Hold on there!" exclaimed Tom, as the portal was about to close, and reaching forward he laid his hand on the shoulder of a student. "I'll trouble you for our clock!" said Tom, sternly.
Then he got one of the surprises of his life. With a startled cry the lad he had grabbed turned about, and his widely opened eyes suddenly changed their expression—changed so queerly that Tom knew he had the solution of the mystery.
"A sleep-walker!" he gasped, as he recognized Harry Johnson, one of the Juniors who did not enter much into the sporting life of Randall. "He's been doing this in his sleep!"
"What—what is it—where—have I? Oh, I've been at it again!" gasped the lad as he was aroused. "I beg your pardon, Parsons. Hope I haven't done anything very bad this time."
​"Nothing but our clock, old man. Are you in the habit of doing this?"
"Not often, though the spell does come on me once in a while. It's a relic of my childhood days. And so I went to your room and took your clock?"
"Yes. This is the second time. Do you recall the first?"
"Not in the least. And yet I must have done so if you saw me. Probably some night later I went down in the cellar with it and put it on the furnace. Say, I'm mighty sorry."
"That's all right. Better lock your door after this."
"I will. Come in, and tell me what a fool I made of myself."
Tom, who had on a warm bath robe this time, consented, and in a whisper related the details of the first occurrence. Johnson was contrite, and admitted that it must have been he who had taken the clock, though in his waking hours he recalled nothing of it.
"It must have been the tick that attracted me," he explained. "Well, I guess I'd better take some treatment. Have a glass of ginger ale?"
"Don't care if I do, though it's breaking training."
As Johnson got a bottle from a closet he uttered an exclamation of surprise.
​"Look here!" he called to Tom. "Where did these things come from?" and in the bottom of a little case, where the bottles had been, he pointed to a collection of things.
"By Jove!" cried Tom. "I've solved the other mystery! You've been taking this stuff in your sleep!"
And so poor Johnson had. There was found all the articles missing from the rooms of various students. Johnson had, in his sleep, entered and taken them, concealing them in a closet, and, in his waking hours, forgetting about them. They were returned the next morning, with suitable apologies, and the matter was quietly dropped, for the students all understood how it could have happened. Johnson consulted a doctor, and was soon cured of his propensity to night wanderings.
"Well, I'm glad I solved the mystery, since I started it," remarked Tom the next morning.
Day after day passed, and the crews of the eights, as well as the other rowers, fairly lived on the river. The weather was remarkably fine, which was in their favor. Day after day the practice and training were kept up, and the coaches were faithful. A number of the old graduates who had been instrumental in providing the gift, came to Randall, and offered suggestions, some of which, being valuable, were adopted.
And then the natural result followed all this ​hard work. The time of the eight, especially, began to improve. The boys rowed with more snap and vigor. They could stand the "gaff" better, and when Jerry Jackson, sitting crouched up in his coxswain's seat, called for a spurt, there were not so many "bellows to mend" in the shape of panting lads, as there had been.
"We've coming on!" cried Mr. Lighton proudly, at the close of an exciting brush between the first and second boats one day, when the varsity had won. "We're coming on!"
"If we can only keep it up," breathed Frank, who, being captain of the eight, as well as stroke, felt his responsibility.
"Oh, we'll do it, old man," declared Tom, and he succeeded in infusing some of his spirit into his chums. The faint hearts of the weeks before had become strong.
"But you boys needn't think you are going to win!" declared Ruth, when the four lads called on the four girls about a week prior to the date set for the regatta. "We have a championship crew in the eight, if nowhere else."
"Never!" cried Tom. "We're going to win the eight if we lose everything else; eh, fellows?"
"That's what!" his chums chorused.
"Anyhow, I'm glad of one thing," remarked Ruth, in a low voice to Tom, "Phil is so interested in this rowing game that he hasn't said a word ​about my lost brooch. The other day I had on the new pin I bought to take its place, and he stared at it without making a remark. But, oh, Tom! I wonder if we'll ever find it?"
"It doesn't look so—not now," replied Tom, mournfully.
"Never mind," she consoled him. "We did our best."
"And lost out by a narrow squeak," thought Tom to himself, recalling the pawn tickets and other clues that had gone for naught. The police had not been able to get a trace of either Mendez or Blasdell, nor had the missing pawnbroker been found.
Finally the great day came. The last practice had been held, the lads, not only of Randall, but at the rival colleges, were "trained to the minute." The coaches had made their last appeals.
"Well, fellows, to-morrow tells the tale," said Frank to his seven chums, on the night before regatta-day. They had all met in the gymnasium for a final conference with Mr. Lighton, and had partaken of a light lunch.
"I'm as nervous as a cat," declared Sid.
"Don't you dare be!" exclaimed the captain of the eight. "But if you must be—be it now, and steady up for to-morrow. Now off to bed, and everybody sleep soundly."
​And then regatta-day broke—calm, with a bright sun overhead, a hint of Fall coolness in the air that sent a little tingle through the blood—just the day for the races.