# The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 4
#### CHAPTER IV
##### IMPLIED ACCUSATION

Frank Simpson was the first to take definite action. He looked sharply at the man, as the latter gave the surprising information about trophies, and then, In a low voice, said to his companions in the barge:
"Let's go ashore, fellows."
"What for; to be insulted again? " asked Tom. "I'm not going to stand for that fellow's insinuations. Who is he, anyhow?"
"I don't know," answered Frank, "and for the very same reason that I, neither, do not intend to stand for any imputation, I want to go ashore. Give way!"
They urged their heavy craft shoreward.
"They are certainly gone," went on the man, as he continued to rummage about In the wreckage of his boat. "And it means a big loss to me. If you boys were here——"
"Say, just hold on a minute, my friend," interrupted Frank, in that cool way of his. "Just go ​a bit slow about making cracks. It might not be altogether healthy!" and the eyes of the Big Californian glowed.
"But I tell you it's a big loss!" went on the man. "I must find the things—money won't pay for them!"
"Now suppose we go at this thing systematically," suggested Frank, his chums, by common consent, letting him assume the leadership. "We don't any of us know you, except that we all recall seeing you land on the main shore in your motorboat a day or so ago. It was this same boat, I take it."
"The same," answered the man. "And now——"
"Wait," suggested Frank, holding up his hand. "As for us, we're Randall College students, as you can easily verify. We'll give you our names—fellows, cards," and Frank handed over one of his own, the others doing the same.
"That's all right," spoke the man, in half-sullen tones; "but that isn't going to bring back my stuff."
"Do you think we took it?" snapped Frank, and there was a warning glint in his eyes.
"No—not exactly—but you lads were at my boat, you say, and this is the first time I've seen it since I left it with those cups and other valuables in."
​"Well, that's a long way from proving that we took anything," went on Frank. "It's laughable, or, it would be if it wasn't so serious."
"Who are you, anyhow?" burst out Tom Parsons, unable to restrain his curiosity longer. "This thing is getting too deep for me. How did you come to have the Boxer Hall trophy cups?"
"Perhaps I had better explain," went on the man. "I am Edward Farson, and I'm in the jewelry business in Haddonfield. I've only recently started up, and I'm working a new line of trade. I am an expert repairer and mender of old jewelry, and I find that many residents along the river here, as well as out in the country, have old jewelry they want made into modern forms.
"As I happened to own a motor-boat I decided to use that in making calls along the river, and I have been quite successful. Then learning that the colleges hereabouts had many cups and trophies that grew tarnished, or were broken, I solicited orders in that line. I also do engraving, putting the names of the winners and all that on the cups.
"The other day—the time I remember now when I saw you at Mr. Borden's dock—I had collected quite a few pieces of jewelry, some from customers, some from the students at Fairview Institute, and a number of trophy cups from Boxer Hall.
"I had a call to make at Mr. Borden's, and, ​leaving the jewelry and cups in a box in one of the lockers of the boat, I ran my craft in the boathouse, as you saw, locked it up, and went up the hill to call on Mrs. Borden. As the box of valuables was rather heavy I did not want to carry It with me. I thought it would be safe."
"We heard you remark as much," interpolated Sid.
"Yes? Well, I expected to be back right away, but when I got to the house I found unexpected news awaiting me. There had come a telephone message from the clerk in my store, who knew that I was to be at Mrs. Borden's at a certain time. I had told him to that effect, as my elderly mother is very ill, and I wanted to be kept informed of her condition. The doctor communicated by wire with my clerk, and the latter left with Mrs. Borden a message to the effect that my mother was sinking, and that I was to hasten if I wanted to see her alive.
"That, as you may suppose, drove from my mind all thoughts of the valuables left in my boat. Or, if I did think of them at all, it must have been to hope that they would be safe, locked in the boathouse as they were, and with no one but myself—as I supposed—knowing of them.
"Mrs. Borden, whom I have known for some time, as soon as she had given me the message about my mother, offered me the use of a horse ​and carriage to get my mother's house, which is quite a way back from the river, off in the country.
"I accepted and drove away, never even mentioning to Mrs. Borden about the jewelry in the locker of my boat. I said I would, on my return, collect the things she wanted repaired. Then I hastened to my mother.
"I found the dear old lady quite ill, and for a time her life was despaired of. But she rallied, and when my sister came to take charge of matters, I decided to come back to my business. But, in the meanwhile, as you know, there was the flood.
"When I went back to the Bordens, it was to find that their boathouse had been washed away by the high water, carrying my craft with it down to the lake. I was nearly crazy, not only at my own loss, but over the missing valuables, which I knew I could never replace. I borrowed a small boat to-day, and set off in search of my launch. I looked in several places where it might have lodged, and when I saw you boys—well, you know the rest," and the jeweler concluded with a pathetic air, as though his troubles was too much for him.
"It's rather a queer story," commented Frank. "As for our part in it, it is just as we told you. We landed here by accident, and saw the wreck ​of the boat. We assumed what had happened, but we saw nothing of any box of cups and jewelry. Then we rowed away and met you."
"I'm much obliged to you for the information," said Mr. Farson, "and I—of course—I'm bound to believe you," he went on, a bit awkwardly. "Then you didn't see a trace of them?"
"Of course not!" cried Phil. "Don't you believe us?"
"Oh, yes—yes, of course. I only thought that maybe, as my boat is so broken up, and the parts scattered about, that you might have looked farther along the shores of the island. The box may have held together, and be lodged somewhere."
"Perhaps it has," said Frank, calmly. "I'd advise you to look thoroughly. You might find it. Come on, fellows," and he led the way back to the boat.
Tom Parsons acted as though he intended to speak, but Sid nudged him in the ribs, and the youth kept quiet.
Mr. Farson stared after the boys as though much disappointed at their desertion, and then, looking to the fastening of the rowing craft in which he had come ashore, he began walking along the edge of the island, where many signs of the high water still remained.
"What did you want to come away for in such ​a hurry?" asked Tom, in a low voice, when they were some distance out. "You were on your highhorse for fair, Frank."
"And why shouldn't I be? Do you think I was going to stay there, and help him hunt, after he practically insulted us the way he did? As if we knew anything about his musty old jewelry!"
"That's right!" broke in Phil. "I wouldn't lift my hand to help him, after he made that implied accusation. We didn't see any of his stuff!"
"Oh, so that's the reason," replied Tom. "Well, I guess it was a good one, Frank."
"Those Boxer Hall lads will be up in the air all right when they learn that their trophies are gone," suggested Sid. "I wonder if there were any of the ones they won in the last meet?"
"They didn't get many," chuckled Frank. "But it will be quite a loss to them. However, it's none of our funeral. I wouldn't trust any of my jewelry to a man who would go off and leave it in a motorboat for a night and a day."
"Oh, well, he didn't mean to. When he got that message about his mother, I suppose it flustered him," said Tom, in extenuation.
"It's hard to blame him," commented Frank. "But he's in a pickle all right. Now let's do some fast rowing."
They hit up the pace, but they did not have enough practice to maintain it, especially in the ​heavy barge, and soon they were all panting, while the oars took the watter raggedly, and Sid caught a crab that nearly sent him overboard.
"I guess we need some coaching," admitted that lad, when he had recovered himself. "We're not racers yet, by a long shot. Slow down a bit, fellows."
"Oh, we're too soft!" complained Frank. "We'll never amount to anything in a shell if we can't stand this. Think of a four-mile row at top speed."
"But we'll be in better shape for it after a course of training and some coaching," declared Phil. "Then, too, we'll have this Summer vacation to practice in."
At slower speed they rowed up to their boathouse dock, and were soon strolling across the campus to their room, discussing the events of the last few hours.
"I can't get over the nerve of that jeweler!" exclaimed the Big Callfornlan. "He nearly got me going."
"I could see that," commented Tom. "It was a good thing we came away when we did."
"Oh, well, he wasn't exactly responsible for what he said. Be a bit charitable," advised Sid.
"Well, how's the racing game progressing?" asked Holly Cross, as he met our friends. "When ​is that second-hand shell coming so we can practice?"
"That's up to Dan Woodhouse," explained Tom. "Kindlings is chairman of that committee. Let's look him up."
"I wonder If Boxer Hall will row us in the Fall?" asked Bricktop Molloy, strolling up. "It will make a double season for them."
"I don't believe they'll dare refuse when we've beaten them at almost everything else," spoke Frank. "But we'll soon know about that. Dutch Housenlager said he had written to their crew captain and coach, and expected an answer soon."
"They ought to be glad to row us," commented Tom. "It will give them a chance to get more cups to replace those they lost."
"How lost?" asked Holly Cross. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, it's a great story!" cried Sid, and he proceeded to relate, aided by his chums, the incident of the smashed motor-boat.
"Too bad," commented Bricktop. "I know how we'd feel if such a thing happened here. But that fellow may find his stuff. Here comes Pete Backus. Hi, Grasshopper!" he called, to a long lad who imagined he was a champion jumper, "are you going to try for the crew?"
"I sure am," was the confident answer. "I ​used to row a lot when a kid, and I guess I haven't forgotten."
"He's too light by fifteen pounds," declared Frank, in a low voice. "About one hundred and sixty is a good average."
"Thank goodness we're all of us that," said Tom, looking at the chums gathered about him.
"Are there going to be single races?" asked a lad, stepping up to join the group. He was a well dressed chap, reputed to be wealthy in his own right. His name was Reginald Boswell.
"Why, yes, Reggie," said Tom, in the drawling tones affected by the other, "we count on having single shells. Are you going to compete?"
"Aw, say, I wish you wouldn't call be Reggie. I hate that name!" exclaimed the lad, who was completing his Freshman year. "Cawn't you call me just—er—Boswell?"
"How would Bossy do for short, me lad?" asked Bricktop. "Not that you're a calf, you know; but Bossy has a sweet sound, thinkest thou not so, my comrades?" and he appealed to his chums with accompanying winks.
"Aw, I say now, quit spoofing me, cawn't you?" appealed the rich lad. "Bossy is too rotten silly, you know," and he drew a scented handkerchief from the pocket of his rather loud, and swagger clothes, which, as he always took the trouble to inform all who appeared interested, were made in ​"Lunnon." Mr. Reginald Boswell had traveled abroad, it seemed.
"You ought to be thankful for any nickname, Bossy," put in Holly Cross. "It isn't every Freshman who is thus honored. It's going to be Bossy or nothing."
"Oh, but I say, Reggie isn't as bad as that!"
"Bossy or nothing!" insisted Bricktop.
"Well, then, tell me about the single shells," went on the rich student, evidently deciding to accept the less of two evils. "I'd like to row in those contests."
"Well, I guess you can—if you can make good," said Frank. "Come on, fellows," and he linked his arms in those of Sid and Tom, and walked them off toward their dormitory, followed by others of the chums, leaving Bossy, as he was generally called after that christening, to contemplate them with mingled feelings.
"Silly rotters!" he murmured after the manner of some of his English acquaintances. "I'll show them I can row, though!"
The news of the loss of the Boxer Hall cups was soon known all over Randall, and, in the next day or so, it was generally talked of, for there was a reward offered by the distracted jeweler, an article appearing in the local paper about it.
"I guess he didn't find any trace of them on the island," commented Sid.
​"The box is probably at the bottom of the lake," was Tom's opinion.
It was several days after this that the four chums were in Haddonfield, partaking of a little supper after a vaudeville entertainment. There strolled into the restaurant some lads from Boxer Hall, among them one or two members of the eight-oared crew.
"Hello, Dave!" greeted Tom and the others.
"Too bad about your trophies; wasn't it," added Phil.
"Rotten!" conceded Dave. "Some of them were old timers, too."
"I—er—I understand that you lads were the first to discover the loss," put in Harry Cedstrom, one of the new students at Boxer Hall, and a member of the crew. There was a strange emphasis on the word "first."
"The first to discover It—what do you mean?" asked Frank Simpson, bristling up.
"I mean that you were first at the wrecked boat that had held the box of jewelry," went on Harry, while some of his companions nudged him to keep him quiet.
"We happened to be there," admitted Frank, in a quiet voice that, to his friends, always presaged an outburst of righteous indignation. "We saw the wrecked boat, and called the attention of the owner to it. We went back with him, and then ​he told us his loss. That's how we happened to be the first, after Mr. Farson himself."
"Oh, I see," spoke Harry. "Then you were at the boat before he was?"
"Cut it out; can't you?" demanded Dave of his friend, in a hoarse whisper.
"Yes," said Frank quietly, "we were there before Mr. Farson," and he looked the other student straight in the eyes.
"And you didn't see anything of our cups?"
"Just what do you mean?" demanded Frank quietly, half rising In his chair, while Tom laid a hand on him in restraint.
"Oh," went on Harry easily, "I thought maybe you fellows might have taken our trophies——"
"Hold on!" cried Frank, and he arose with such suddenness that his chair overturned. Tom arose also, and clung to the arm of the Big Callfornian, whispering rapidly:
"Quiet, Frank. Keep quiet! Don't have a row here!"
"In a joke!" finished Harry Cedstrom with an attempt at a smile. There was a dead silence in the groups of students.