February came in at Hillton as though resolved to make up for its brevity by strict attention to business, and dealt out snow and sleet with a lavish hand, and bullied the elements, which had begun to show signs of relenting, into a state of sullen ferocity. For days together the sun never so much as showed its face through the leaden clouds, and the winds howled spitefully across the yard. It was the sort of weather which, as Trevor explained one afternoon, while staring dolorously out the window, fairly drove a fellow to study. The river retained its armor of glaring ice, and the white-winged yachts passed and repassed continuously, without, however, eliciting anything but the most grudging admiration from Dick. The hockey team went to Marshall and triumphed decisively over St. Eustace, who, minus Jenkins and the freckle-faced Billings, was shorn of her strength. And, as though that was not glory enough, Hillton and her old rival met in debate in the town hall at Hillton and the former won a fourth consecutive victory by proving to the satisfaction of three staid and reverend judges that the development of the arid West would prove of more benefit to the United States than the construction of an isthmian canal.

Work in the cage had begun for the baseball candidates, and Carl Gray was very busy. Ambitious youths who were striving for places on the track team held forth three afternoons each week in the gymnasium, and a spirit of athletism seized upon the school world. The first squad of crew candidates had graduated from weights to machines, while the second squad, swelled by eight recruits since its first assembling, were still in the throes of preliminary training. Professor Beck had “hooked” the promising upper middle boy of whom he had spoken to Dick; several candidates, inclusive of the unfortunate Perry, had been dropped, and Coach Kirk had paid his first visit to the academy, had looked the fellows over undemonstratively, and had gone his way again. To-day, a bleak and dismal Thursday, the machines were occupied, and Professor Beck was watching the performances of the eight youths with dissatisfied mien.

“Lengthen out, Waters, lengthen out; that’s better. Crocker, your recovery’s too slow; put some ginger into it; this is no place to go to sleep. Four, put more drive into your legs; that’s the way. Stroke, hit it up a little!” And Dick, in obedience to the command, quickened his stroke. When the rest had gone Beck turned to Dick: “Hope, what’s the matter with Taylor? This is the third day he’s been absent. We can’t have that. You must speak to him, and tell him that he’ll have to attend to business better.”

And Dick promised and went off laggingly to the task. He found Taylor in his room in a boarding-house in the village.

He was stretched out on a couch reading when Dick entered in response to a loud “Come in.” He appeared surprised when he looked up and saw who his visitor was, but rose to the demands of the occasion.

“Hello, Hope, glad to see you. Sit down. Been ice-yachting lately?”

Dick replied gravely that he had not, and then heroically plunged into the subject of his visit.

“Look here, Taylor,” he said, “I wish you’d try to be a little more careful about training. You missed work again to-day. This makes the third time it’s happened in the last two weeks. Can’t you do better than that?”

Taylor frowned and yawned lazily before he answered.

“I’m glad you’ve mentioned it, Hope. The fact is, I’ve been thinking about chucking it. I can’t see how I’m going to go in for rowing this year and hope to pass spring exams. That’s what the trouble is, old chap. I’ve been digging hard all afternoon”—adding, as he saw Dick glance at the magazine in his hands—“just this minute laid my Greek aside and took up this to—er—ease my brain.” He stopped and smiled amiably across.

Dick frowned.

“That’s nonsense, Taylor, and you know it,” he said in low tones.

“Nonsense!” Taylor raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Yes, nonsense. You can’t convince me that you’re so stupid as not to be able to train for the crew and get through with your studies. There are lots of fellows doing it; always have done it. I’m doing it myself; Crocker’s doing it; so’s Milton and Arnold and lots of fellows; they’re all in in our class; I haven’t heard them say that they were afraid of not passing.”

“Well, that may be,” replied Taylor, “but it’s a question that every fellow must decide for himself. I honestly don’t think I ought to keep up crew work; I’ve got my folks to think of, you know; they didn’t send me to school here to row or play football or anything of that sort—that is, not that alone. I’ve got to pass, and to do that I’ve got to study. If I’m not as smart and clever as some of the rest of you”—here there was a trace of a sneer—“I can’t help it; a fellow’s what he is, you know.”

Dick experienced an intense desire to kick his host and tell him what he thought of him. But instead he smiled conciliatingly.

“I think you’re underestimating your ability, Taylor. Like a good fellow, get those notions out of your head and come back to work; do your best for the crew; it’s your last year. You know what shape we’re in; we haven’t anywhere near the material we ought to have. Confound it, Taylor, you’ve got to stay in the boat! You can’t do anything else, when you stop and think how your leaving will weaken us!”

A smile of pleased vanity crossed the other boy’s face. Then he shook his head resolutely.

“No, I can’t do it, Hope. Oh, I’ve thought it all over, and I know what it means to the crew; but you’ll soon find another fellow at seven, and never miss me. Of course, I’m awful sorry if it’s going to make trouble for you, Hope; you know that. But it’s my duty, and I guess we’d better consider the matter settled. I”—he smiled apologetically—“I’ll tender my resignation, Hope.”

Dick arose, striving to conceal the indignation he felt.

“I sha’n’t accept it to-day, Taylor,” he answered gravely. “If you feel the same way about it to-morrow evening, after thinking it over, send me word and then I’ll scratch your name off the list. Only I hope you’ll see your way to stay in the boat.”

On the way back to the academy Dick gave vent to his feelings, creasing his brows savagely, kicking right and left at inoffending lumps of ice, and even muttering half aloud as he strode along.

“Of all mean, contemptible tricks,” he thought angrily, “that’s the worst! Just to spite me he’s willing to see the school defeated! By Jove, I have half a mind to put the whole affair before Beck and Wheeler; the whole school ought to know it. If they did, Taylor’s life wouldn’t be worth living! But, no, I can’t shove it off on any one else; I’m captain; I’ve got to fight it out alone; and I will! And I’ll turn out a decent crew in spite of Taylor, in spite of anything he can do, by Jove! I’ll——”

“’Ware the dog!” cried a voice, and he looked up quickly to see Trevor grinning at him and to find Muggins leaping about him.

“Hello, Muggs!” he cried, vainly striving to bestow a pat upon that unquiet animal. “Say, Trevor, hasn’t he grown? He’s twice the size he was when you got him!”

“It’s a way puppies have.”

“You don’t say so? Who’d have thunk it! Beastly cold, isn’t it? Where you going?”

“You can ask a lot of questions for a small kid,” laughed Trevor. “I’m going to take Muggins back to his soap-box, and then I’m going home. We’ve been out for a nice long walk, haven’t we, Muggins? Where’ve you been?”

“Paying an afternoon call on Roy Taylor. Come on, I’ll walk back to the stable with you.”

“All right; come ahead, Muggins. Now, behave yourself nicely before your Uncle Richard! Hope Taylor was glad to see you?”

“I guess he was. Why?”

“Oh, you needn’t be so bally secretive about it,” grinned Trevor. “Don’t you think I know that you went to call him down for not showing up to-day?”

“You seem to know a good deal,” answered Dick, noncommittingly.

Trevor nodded vigorously.

“I do; I’m what you fellows call ‘right smart.’ I hope you gave it to him straight from the shoulder.” And after a pause, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm, “I don’t like that chap a little bit!”

“I gathered as much,” laughed Dick. “Beck was pretty huffy at him this afternoon.”

“I don’t wonder. Just fancy, the beggar doesn’t show up half the time, while the rest of us poor dubs sit there and slave at those bally machines until our arms are pulled out of shape. I know mine are at least six inches longer than they were a month ago.”

“How did you get on to-day?”

“Fairly well, I fancy. Only it takes a long time to get used to your style of rowing. You see, it’s rather different from ours.”

“Is it? Perhaps you’re not aware that we are supposed to row the English stroke?” Trevor raised his eyebrows.

“The dickens you say? Well, I can’t see much resemblance, Dick. Why, you haven’t any body-swing; you make a chap’s legs do it all!”

“Do we? Well, you must mention that to Kirk next Saturday; I dare say he’ll be glad to hear about it.”

“Rot; I’m not finding fault; any old stroke will do me; I’m just saying that there’s a difference between the stroke that Beck and you teach and the English stroke that I’ve seen. Maybe yours is the better of the two. Here we are, Muggins. Now, be a good doggy until I see you again; and don’t pull any more blankets off the table, or Jim will lay it onto you with a strap.”

Muggins had by this time grown inured to partings, and so only stood by the office stove and watched them disappear with head on one side and a sort of “Must you go?” expression in his eyes.

“When do we get onto the river?” asked Trevor presently as they retraced their steps down the village street in the teeth of a northwest gale.

“Depends; sometimes in early March, sometimes not until about April. You see, the ice makes it awkward. Kirk has got it into his head that we’ll get out early this spring; I don’t know whether he’s made any arrangements with the weather man.”

“He’s older than I expected. Last year I was a bit surprised to see what a staid and venerable party he was.”

“Well, he’s nearly forty, though I don’t suppose that’s exactly old—when you get used to it; they get even older, I’m told. But Kirk knows a good deal about rowing, and he has turned out some dandy crews, both here and at Harwell. When he was at school here he was captain of the eight in his upper middle and senior years, and at college he rowed four in his class crew the first year, went into the varsity boat the next, and stayed there until he graduated; he was captain in his senior year. Then he coached them for a while. This is his fourth year with us, and we’ve beaten St. Eustace twice and been beaten once in that time; and we’ll beat her again next June.”

“I hope so,” said Trevor, “only I can’t see why every one seems so half-hearted about it. I don’t mean you or Beck,” he explained hurriedly, “but the fellows as a rule; they don’t seem to care much about it.”

“I know; but part of that is just—just put on, assumed, Trevor; when the crews get on the water it will be different. But, just the same,” he owned sorrowfully, “there is an unusual lack of rowing spirit among the fellows this year. I dare say it will happen that way now and then. Only I wish it hadn’t happened this year,” he added ruefully.

“So do I, for your sake, old chap,” answered Trevor heartily as they climbed to their room.

The head coach put in his appearance on the following Saturday afternoon, despite a heavy snow-storm that well-nigh blocked the roads, and by his brisk, businesslike manners put new life into the first squad, for the moment at least. Malcolm Kirk was a man of medium height, approaching forty years of age, with a good but not exaggerated breadth of chest and shoulder, and very serious and steady black eyes. His manner was usually contained and rather grave, and he possessed a widely noted habit of keeping his own mind and every one else’s fixed firmly for the time on the matter in hand, to the exclusion of all else.

As an example of this, it was told of him that once, while coaching a college crew in a barge, he was lecturing a man in the waist on the subject of dropping the hands, when the barge struck a snag which ripped a hole in her. “You don’t get your oar out of the water clean, Four,” remonstrated the coach. “Drop the forearm as well as the hands.” The barge was by this time awash. “We’ve ripped a hole in the skin, sir,” called the coxswain. “Eh? Very careless,” answered the coach from the bow of the launch. “There, Four, that’s better. Now make your wrist turn sharper. Keep it up, keep it up; you’re doing better!” And the eight rowed the half-filled barge an eighth of a mile before Kirk was quite satisfied with the unfortunate Four’s work, and allowed the men to come out.

To-day the first thing he noted was the presence of a new fellow at seven.

“Where’s that man Taylor?” he asked of Dick.

“He’s stopped training, Mr. Kirk; says he can’t keep up with his studies.” Kirk stared.

“Nonsense, we must have him back; tell him so, Hope. Now, Six, that won’t do; don’t meet the oar that way, take it back to you; finish hard and full. Bow, you begin to slide forward too soon; start your swing first and let it carry the slide with it. Three, you’re doing better to-day. Keep the leg-power up to the last moment; knees down firm at the end of the stroke.” And Trevor, tugging heroically, hears, and begins to think that perhaps he will learn the stroke eventually, after all!

When work was over Kirk again brought up the subject of Taylor. “Yes, we must have him back, Hope; tell him so; make him understand that it’s necessary. He’s a good oar; fits into his place well; has lots of weight where he needs it.”

“I’m afraid he won’t come back,” answered Dick. “He’s got it into his head that he can’t go in for rowing and pass his exams.”

“Pooh! never mind what he’s got into his head; tell him we need him in the boat; make him understand that it’s his duty, Hope. And I tell you we do need him, my boy; never saw such an unpromising lot of fellows at Hillton. That man you had at seven to-day couldn’t fill the place in the boat; he’s too light; don’t think he has the grit for it, even if he learned to put some power into his stroke, which he doesn’t at present. You’ve got a good man at bow; what’s his name? Shield? Well, he’s promising. And Three, I like Three’s looks; seems to be in earnest, though he has a deuce of a queer way of throwing his body around the boat.”

“That’s Nesbitt,” explained Dick. “He’s English, and has rowed some at home; I believe he finds our stroke rather difficult; but I think he’ll do well; he’s my roommate, and I know that he’s the sort of fellow that’ll keep on trying until he gets what he’s after.”

Kirk nodded approvingly.

“I shouldn’t wonder. English, eh? That explains that body-swing of his, I suppose. Well, I guess he’ll turn out well, though I believe he’ll do better at four when we get into the water. Now, I’ll have a look at the other squad.”

“It’s all very well for Kirk to talk about making Taylor come back,” said Dick to himself that evening, “but I wish he had it to do. However, I suppose I’ll have to make a stab at it. But I’d rather have a tooth pulled. We do need him, though, and that’s a fact, and what I’ve got to do is forget what I like and don’t like, and work for the crew. I’ll go around and see him to-morrow. No, by Jove, I’ll go to-night; there’s no time like the present for anything disagreeable!” And he jumped up, threw aside his book, and began to struggle into his coat. Trevor glanced up in surprise.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Over to the village to see Taylor.”

“Phew! what a growl; want me to go along?”

“No, not unless you want to sit on the steps and wait for me; I’ve got to see him about something private.”

Trevor grinned.

“Fancy, now! Honest, Dick, if you’re going to punch his head, I’d like blooming well to help you.”

“I dare say,” laughed his roommate, “but I’m not going to punch his head. Coming along?”

“And sit on the front doorstep in this weather and twiddle my thumbs? I fancy not, my dear. As the vulgar manner of speech hath it, ‘Guess again!’” And Trevor snuggled up ostentatiously to the warmth of the blaze. But after Dick had taken his departure he laid down his book and eyed the flames thoughtfully.

“I rather wish I had gone along,” he muttered. “It’s just possible that he is going to punch Taylor, after all.”