# The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 15
#### CHAPTER XV
##### THE OLD GRADUATE

"Say, did you think to bring any spoons, Tom?"
"What about the condensed milk?"
"And say, Tom, this isn't a good brand of coffee!"
"What made you get all canned corn? Why didn't you include some beans, Tom?"
"Say, if I've got to eat coffee with my fingers I'm going to quit right now!"
"Look here, Tom! Didn't I say I wanted a soft cot? You've given me one as hard as a board. I won't stand for it!"
You can easily imagine the scene. The boys had arrived in camp, and were just unpacking. The tents—sleeping and dining—had been erected after much labor, and with the aid of Senor Mendez, who courteously offered his services.
"And for the love of the seven wonders of the world, Tom, what made you buy this brand of canned chicken?" demanded Sid, who was opening a case.
​Tom Parsons put down the blanket he was taking out of a trunk. He strode to the middle of the tent, put his hands on his hips, surveyed his three chums, and began:
"Say, look here, you fellows! I've done most of the work around this outfit. I saw to it that the baggage didn't go astray when you chaps were trying to flirt with those pretty girls in the train! I ordered all the eats, and most of the other stuff, I got Mendez to give us a hand, though none of you wanted me to. I've looked after everything from A to Z and you fellows have been loafing. And now you jump on me because I didn't get mock-turtle soup instead of mulligatawny. You don't like the kind of coffee, and I suppose you'll faint if you don't have condensed milk.
"Say, don't you want finger bowls? Will you have paper napkins, or just the plain fringed style? Do you want your shaving water hot every morning, and what time shall I have the 'bawth' ready? Are your nails manicured? If not, I guess I can find time to do that. Would you like silk pajamas, or will linen do? And if there's anything more that you confounded dudes want in this camp—just get it yourselves—I'm done! DONE! Do you hear? I'm through!" and, fairly shouting the words Tom stalked out of the tent and went and sat down on a log near the edge of Lake Tonoka.
​The other three stared at each other in amazement. The rebellion of their chum had come like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
"Er—what did—what did we do?" faltered Sid.
"Did you ever hear the like?" came from Phil.
"He's mad all right—clear through," spoke Frank. "I guess we have been rather piling it on."
"It's the first time I ever knew Tom to act like this," said Phil, soberly.
"He has done a lot of work," put in Sid.
"And we have been finding a deal of fault," added Frank.
"How can we square him?" asked Phil.
"You go out and talk to him, Frank," proposed Sid.
"No, I've got a better scheme than that," came from the Big Californian. "Let's finish slicking up in here ourselves, go on and get grub ourselves, and then invite him in. He'll see we didn't mean all we said, then."
"Good idea," declared Phil.
"We'll do it," agreed Sid.
Thereupon, paying no more attention to the justly sulking lad by the water's edge, the three chums shortly had the sleeping tent in some kind of shape. An oil stove had been brought, and on this some coffee was soon steaming away, while ​the appetizing odor of ham and eggs wafted itself over the camp.
Through it all Tom never turned his head, nor did his companions speak to him. He must have heard what was going on, but he never acknowledged it. With merry whistles his chums drove away the suggestion of gloom.
"Grub's ready!" came the announcement of Frank, as he walked over toward Tom. "Wilt your most gracious majesty deign to partake of our humble fare?" and he dropped on one knee, and offered to Tom, on a plate, a slice of bread.
For a moment the tall pitcher held out against the envoy, and then a faint smile broke over his face.
"If you fellows are done finding fault," he said, "I'll come in and help. But I don't like to do all the work, and then have it rubbed in the way you chaps did."
"That's right, we did lay it on a bit thick," admitted Frank, contritely.
"And I got a bit hot under the collar," spoke Tom, confessing in his turn.
"Come on and eat," urged Frank. "The stuff is getting cold. It isn't such bad coffee after all."
"I paid enough for it," retorted Tom.
And thus the little cloud was blown away. Soon all were eating merrily. The meal being finished, ​they began to get the cots in shape, for It was drawing on to afternoon.
The boys had two large tents, one for eating, and the other for sleeping in, and lounging during the day. A smaller one served as kitchen and storeroom.
By evening they were in good shape, and accepted an invitation to take supper at one of the cottages, the owner of which with his wife and daughters, had learned that the boys were friends of the Tylers, who had not yet arrived.
"Well, now for a good snooze!" exclaimed Tom, as they got back to their tent that night, having spent a pleasant evening with the Prudens.
"Did you bring any mosquito netting?" asked Phil. "If you didn't I——"
"Silence!" warned Frank. "A certain amount of mosquito bites will do us good—put ginger into us for the rowing game."
"All right—all right!" cried Phil, quickly. "I didn't mean that," and he looked quickly at Tom, fearing a return of the morning outbreak.
"When are the girls coming?" asked Sid, as he began to get ready to turn in.
"What do you care?" asked Tom, quickly. "Didn't I see you trying to hold the hand of that youngest Miss Pruden under the table?"
"Oh, fie!" cried Frank.
"I was not!" cried Sid, indignantly. "She had ​lent me her ring, and it was so small I couldn't easily get it off again. She was trying to help me."
"Say, when you tell 'em, tell 'em good and big!" laughed Tom. "'When are the girls coming?' Say, you're a nice one, you are, and——"
Tom ducked in time to avoid the shoe Sid threw at him.
"Easy, fellows," cautioned Phil. "There are other people on the island besides us, and they may want to go to sleep."
"Then make him dry up! " demanded Sid.
"I'll be good," promised Tom. "But when you hold hands don't be afraid to admit it. I——"
The other shoe came in his direction with such poor aim that the candle was knocked over, the lanterns not yet being in service.
"Cheese it!" warned Frank. "You'll have the place on fire. Light a match, somebody."
All began groping about in the dark tent.
"Oh, for the love of tripe!" suddenly exclaimed Tom.
"What's the matter?" asked Phil.
"I stuck my foot in the water bowl!" exclaimed the lad. "It was on the floor. I'm as wet as a duck."
"Serves you right!" declared Sid vindictively.
"'Be good, sweet lad, and let who will be clever,'" misquoted Phil with a chuckle.
​But finally order was restored, and our friends fell into a deep sleep.
"Well, what's doing to-day?" asked Sid, after breakfast.
"I vote we take a trip down to college, and see if any of the fellows are there rowing," proposed Frank. "If we can't scare up enough to make the eight, we can take out one of the fours."
"Second the motion," came from Tom, and the others agreed, too.
They rowed down leisurely, being a bit stiff, not only from their unusual exertions in making camp, but also because they were out of practice. But finally Randall was reached, and, to their disappointment, they found only one or two lads there, practicing in the singles. They all declined to take a try in the eight, as they were going in for the sculling races. Anyhow, there would not have been enough for an eight with a coxswain.
"We'll have to take a four," said Tom, with a sigh. "Frank, you'll have to steer, as you can do it better than any of us."
A four-oared shell, as I explained, and as doubtless most of you know, is steered by a mechanical arrangement, worked by the feet of one of the rowers.
Soon the four chums were pulling down the river, gaining in skill each moment, as the memory of what Coach LIghton had said recurred to them.
​They rowed a good distance, and then drew up at a private float and got out to stretch their legs. As they were about to put off again, an elderly man, with a pleasant face, approached and asked:
"From Boxer Hall?"
"From Randall," replied Tom.
"Ah, yes, I noticed you rowing in. I think you might improve your stroke a little if you would feather differently. You don't turn your hands quite at the proper time."
"You must be an old oarsman?" said Tom.
"Well, I've been in the game. I used to row at Cornell years ago. Pierson is my name."
"Are you that Pierson?" cried Frank, remembering the name as that of one of the best scullers Cornell ever turned out.
"I'm afraid I am," was the smiling answer.
"Say," burst out Sid. "Would you mind watching us a bit, and telling us our mistakes? We're new at it, as you probably noticed," he went on, "and Randall is just getting into the water sports. We want to beat Boxer Hall. Can you give us a few points?"
"Where are you staying?" asked Mr. Pierson.
"On Crest Island—we're camping there."
"So! Well, as it happens, I have friends there, and I have been invited to spend part of the Summere there. If I come I shall be glad to tell you what I know of rowing, and coach you a bit. It ​is the best sport in the world!" and Mr. Pierson's eyes sparkled as though he would like to get in the shell himself.
"That will be fine!" exclaimed Tom. "We shall look for you."
They talked a little longer, the old oarsman giving them some good advice about training. Then he bade them good-bye, and walked off up the hill leading from the river.
The boys got in the shell again, intending to row to Randall, and then back to their camp.
As they neared the college float, and noted the activity of the men building the new boathouse, Sid exclaimed:
"Look who's here!"
"Who?" asked Tom.
"Bossy, by all that's tragic! He's just taking out a single shell. I wonder if he's going to the island?"