To the Varsity men in the bow of the _Veritas_, the race for second crews seemed a tame affair. Westcott’s got a lead of half a length at the start, increased it to a whole one at the quarter, doubled this advantage during the next half mile, and added still another length in a pretty display-spurt beyond the bridge. Hoarse and happy, Mike brought his boat in to the float past a crowd of yelling, dancing friends who were putting to an extreme test the boasted stability of the old Spanish cutter. The members of the first crew, delighted to consider the complete victory of their schoolmates a good omen for their own race, helped Mac and his men out of their boat and poured sweet praises into their ears.
“Nothing like a little extra French after school to get you ready for a race,” panted Mac, as Talbot wrung his hand and blessed him with a dozen different kinds of exclamation. “I hope you fellows won’t suffer from lack of it.”
“Suffer from lack of it, you old idiot! Do you suppose we have strength to throw away?”
“Get a lead in the beginning,” urged Mac, becoming serious. “It’s a lot easier to keep it than to get it after you’ve lost it. Newbury will quit if you can once show them your rudder.”
“And drive your crew,” continued Mac. “They can stand a lot more than they did on Wednesday.”
“I think they’ll have a chance for all the work they want to do. I’ll try to satisfy even Roger.”
Bow oar reddened, but said nothing. He knew well that Pete would push the crew to its last gasp, and he had doubts as to his ability to hold his own with the hard-muscled, strong-headed stroke, who was as incapable of yielding as the Old Guard of surrendering, or the dying bulldog of relinquishing his grip on his enemy. There was one method, of course, by which Roger could meet the strain, and come out fresh at the end to smile at Pete’s challenge. He might weaken just a little on his pull as the labor told, might put a trifle less than his best into his stroke, and thus shrewdly save himself from extreme exhaustion. But to do that was to be a quitter, and bow oar’s scorn for a quitter was equal to Pete’s. “I’ll give him all I’ve got, anyway,” he said to himself. “If I break, it will be because I can’t row any more, not because I won’t.”