Publisher's Synopsis
"I guess I'm all ready now," replied Dock, as he got on the center of the seat and adjusted the oars. "Better send for your secretary to make sure," said Nat Anderson, and at this there was a laugh from the students who had gathered to see the contest. "Rusticating rowlocks, but you're slow!" "You mind your own business, Anderson," came from the bully, "or I'll make you." "It'll take more than you to make me," responded Nat boldly, for more than once he had come into conflict with Snaith and did not fear him. "It will, eh? Well, if I can get out of this boat--" "Aw, go on! Row if you're going to!" exclaimed Sam. "Think I haven't anything to do except stay here and start this race? You challenged Jack, now go ahead and beat him-if you can." "Yes, come on," added Jack, a tall, good-looking, bronzed youth, who sat on the seat in the small boat, impatiently moving the oars slowly to and fro. "Oh, I'll beat you," said the bully confidently. "You can give the word whenever you're ready, Chalmers." "Ah! that's awfully kind of you, really it is," said Jack in a high, falsetto voice, which produced another laugh. Dock Snaith scowled at Jack, but said nothing. There was a moment's delay, while Sam looked down the course to see if all was clear on Rudmore Lake, where the contest was taking place. "I'm going to fire!" cried Sam. The two contestants gripped their oars a little more firmly, they leaned forward, ready to plunge them into the water and pull a heavy stroke at the sound of the pistol. Their eyes were bright with anticipation, and their muscles tense. Crack! There was a puff of white smoke, a little sliver of flame, hardly noticeable in the bright October sunlight; then came a splash in the water as the broad blades were dipped in, and the race was on. "Jack's got the lead! Jack's ahead!" cried the friends of our hero, as they ran along the shore of the lake. "Dock is only tiring him out," added the adherents of the school bully. "He'll come in strong at the finish." "He will if he doesn't tire out," was Nat Anderson's opinion. "Dock smokes too many cigarettes to be a good oarsman." "I suppose you think Ranger will have it all his own way?" spoke Pud Armstrong, a crony of Snaith. "Not necessarily," was Nat's answer as he jogged along. "But I think he's the better rower." "We'll see," sneered Pud. "Yes, we'll see," admitted Nat.
