When, on the following Saturday, Coach Kirk again visited Hillton, Dick had a sorry report to make: Taylor obdurate; Waters gone; two members of the second squad ill.

“Taylor absolutely refuses, eh?” said the coach, studying Dick’s face. “Well, if he won’t he won’t, and we must do our best without him. And Waters has dropped out, too, you say? He was at five, wasn’t he? Well, that’s another good man lost. You’ve tried to persuade him to come back?”

“Yes; I did all I could.”

“Ah! Is Waters a particular friend of Taylor’s?”

“I think they’re rather chummy.”

“I see. Well, Hope, I can’t pass behind you in this matter; it’s your business to look after the fellows, and if you can’t get them to stay in training, that ends it. We must do the best we can with what we’ve got. We’ll try Nesbitt at four to-day, and put Rankin of the second squad into Waters’s place. And, by the way, we’d better divide the second; make a third squad. That will leave two over, won’t it? Two men, I mean? I thought so. I wish to goodness we had a second set of machines here. However—— By the way, Hope, you’re not looking very fit to-day; feel pretty well, do you?”

“Yes; I’m all right; didn’t sleep very steady last night, I guess.”

“Well, you’ll have to look after yourself carefully. If you go off your feed we will be in a hole. Now I want to see Beck a minute or two before we start to rowing.” And Kirk strode out onto the floor, and as he went he said to himself: “Plain as daylight; Hope and Taylor are at loggerheads, and Taylor’s persuaded Waters to leave. Nice state of affairs!”

February passed into March, and March, after performing its usual Æolian repertoire, subsided toward the end of its reign in preparation for a lamblike exit. And one morning Dick pushed up the blind and, according to his custom of weeks past, looked toward the river. And, lo, the water sparkled deeply blue under a springlike sun, and, save for a patch here and there along the margins and in the lee of the islands, was clear of ice.

“The river’s open at last!” he shouted to Trevor. And that youth hurried to the window to see the marvel with his own eyes.

“Good work! I say, Dick, it looks warm enough to go in swimming. Will we get out to-day?”

Dick shook his head.

“I guess we’ll wait until Saturday.”

“Saturday! But, jumping jiminy, this is only Tuesday!” exclaimed Trevor. “How can you expect a chap to grind away in the gym on a day like this?” He pushed the window up and threw himself over the sill, kicking his heels delightedly and breathing in the fresh, moist air greedily. A fringe of icicles above dripped water down onto his bare neck, and he giggled hysterically. “Just like a needle bath,” he sputtered.

“Come on and get dressed,” said Dick, “and let’s go over to breakfast.”

“All right; wait until I eat an icicle.” He reached up and broke off several. “Have one?”

“No, and no more will you,” replied Dick, knocking them out of his hand. “When you’re in training for the boat you can’t eat icicles; they’ll give you pains in your tummy.”

“Rot,” said Trevor; “there’s nothing more healthful than a nice underdone icicle just before breakfast.”

The boat-house on the following Saturday afternoon was a scene of much activity and color. The fellows turned out almost to a man for a look at the crews at work, and the second and third squad stood by and watched enviously while their more fortunate friends lifted one of the long cedar shells from the house and placed it in the water at the end of the float. The coxswain, an upper middle lad named Keene, called the numbers, and, one by one, Trevor by virtue of his place at four, leading, the first squad entered the boat. Kirk contented himself to-day with a point of vantage on the landing, for the tiny naphtha launch was not yet ready for duty.

“Get your feet into the stretchers, men, and see how they feel. How is that, Six, too long? Hold her steady, you fellows. That’s better, isn’t it?” And when the last stretcher had been placed to suit: “Keene, keep the boat in the stretch here by the landing and inshore as much as you can. All right.”

“Get ready,” called the coxswain. The boat was pushed off from the float. “Forward!” The crew moved up with their slides. “Paddle!” and the shell floated out into the stream, her bow pointing up the river. “Easy all!” The paddling ceased and the boat lay motionless. “Forward!” The eight bodies bent. “Are you ready? Row!” and the blades swirled through the water and the boat leaped forward. Dick, at stroke, pulled leisurely, and after the first three or four strokes the rest of the eight caught the time, and the locks clicked in unison. At a little distance up-stream the boat was turned, and, with the same long, leisurely stroke, was brought back and past the landing, where Kirk, eagle-eyed, watched the work silently. Down-stream the shell was again turned, and, when it was once more opposite the float, was brought to a stop.

“Seven, keep your eyes in the boat and watch the stroke,” called Kirk. “Five, you’re too late every time. Four, you don’t finish out. Bring your hands home. Two, keep your shoulders down at the finish. Cox, watch the boat; coming down just now she rolled like a log; keep an eye on Three and Bow; I think they’re the offenders. Try it again.”

And off went the boat once more, turned, passed the landing, and finally was again brought up that the coach might continue his criticism. Then the first squad was released and the second was given a few minutes instruction in watermanship, merely taking their places in the boat, handling the oars and paddling to and fro about the float. The third squad followed, and as each was released it was sent off for a run.

Among the fellows who watched the work of the crews that afternoon was Roy Taylor. It would, perhaps, be more truthful to say that he divided his watching between the crew and the coach. And from the latter he learned as much as from the former, and what he saw was evidently to his liking, for he went off up the steps whistling thoughtfully but with satisfaction.

“I’ll give Hope another three weeks to come around,” he said to himself, as he passed Society House and turned toward Academy Building. “If by that time he hasn’t consented to give me the captaincy, I’ll—I’ll eat my hat. I never saw such a duffer in a boat as that fellow they had to-day in my place at seven. And Kirk thinks the same way, too; he tried to hide what he felt, but I know his way of tugging at his mustache and grinning pleasantly when he is worried; and he was worried to-day, all right. And I don’t blame him”—with a grin—“for there are three men in that first squad that wouldn’t last half a mile in a race with a girls’ school! Oh, yes, I guess old Hope will be around to see me before long!”

And Taylor pushed his way past the green leather doors of the library and, finding a book, went busily to work with pad and pencil—for whatever else might have been said about Roy Taylor, he was at least diligent at his studies, and stood high in his class.

Dick, followed by Trevor and the rest of the first squad, finished a mile run over the soft road, and came swinging up to the gymnasium an hour before supper-time, panting and tuckered, but in a most enjoyable glow and with appetites that protested strongly against the time that must elapse ere they could be satisfied. After a shower-bath Dick and Trevor walked across to Masters together, and, pulling a blanket over their feet, perched themselves on the broad window-seat in the lingering glow of the sun, and leaned back luxuriously against the pillows. Ever since the morning four days previous, when Dick had looked out to find the Hudson clear of ice, the boys had scorned fires, and, although the room had a way of getting cold toward evening, they insisted that spring had come, and that wood fires were a survival of the dark ages of midwinter. Trevor stretched his arms and yawned, and the Latin book on his lap fell unheeded to the floor.

“That was something like, to-day,” he said. “It was worth all that work in the gym, every minute of it. I say, Dick, Kirk looked rather well satisfied with us, I thought, eh?”

“He looked that way,” answered Dick, “but don’t deceive yourself into thinking that he felt so. Not a bit of it; he was grumpy clean through; you could tell that by his grin; he always grins when he’s grumpy; makes you think of the—thingumbob—what is it that cries when it eats people?”

“Mouse?” asked Trevor innocently.

“Get out! Crocodile, I mean. That’s Kirk’s way. No, he wasn’t happy to-day, and I don’t blame him, for, oh, Trevor, my child, Jones fills Taylor’s place about as well as a wax doll would. And Rankin means well, but hasn’t got it in him, and Arnold’s just a makeshift, after all; I thought he was going to prove a good man; and Milton doesn’t seem to understand what he’s doing half the time.”

“And Nesbitt rows as though he was chopping wood,” laughed Trevor, with a questioning accent.

“Nesbitt will do, I guess, after he’s been at it a little longer,” answered Dick. “Hang it all! I rowed like a kid to-day myself! I don’t know what’s got into me. I wish—by Jove! I honestly do wish that Taylor or anybody else was captain, Trevor!”

“Rot! What kind of a captain would Taylor make, for goodness’ sake? Cheer up, my hearty; you’ll feel better after supper.”

“Sha’n’t,” muttered Dick.

“Oh, yes, you will. What you need is some nice cold roast beef, milk toast, egg muffins, peach marmalade, and a cup of cocoa; with plenty of mustard.”

“In the cocoa?” grinned Dick.

“Idiot! No, on the beef. That’s right, smile; keep it up; now you’re feeling better. And something tells me, Dick, that it’s pretty near time to wash our nice little hands and faces. Say, let’s cut lessons to-night and go over to the village and see Carl and Stewart, eh?”

And so it was agreed.

Spring vacation came, and for a week partially depopulated the academy, interfering sadly with crew work. Trevor joined his father in New York, and Stewart Earle went home; but Dick and Carl stuck to their posts, Dick on the river and Carl on the baseball diamond, where he was turning out a nine that was destined to be proudly remembered at Hillton for many years. Dick found himself in full authority during the vacation week, for Malcolm Kirk had not as yet taken up his residence in the village, and with no recitations to attend he was able to give almost his entire time to rowing affairs. Half of the first squad were away, but he filled the empty places from the second, put Crocker temporarily at stroke, and coached the impromptu crew from a small boat in which he rowed frantically about in efforts to secure satisfactory points of observation. One rather bleak afternoon he was in his tub just off the landing as the shell, returning from down the river, swept abreast of him. He stood up on the thwarts, balancing himself with an oar, in order to better view the work.

“Seven, you’re rowing light,” he called. “You begin to lower your hands too early; your blade is half out of water at the finish. Five, you put your blade too deep.” The shell was passing now, and he raised his voice and unconsciously leaned forward. “Grip the water with the blade——”

There was a splash and a cry from the handful of loiterers on the float; the tub rocked merrily; Dick’s cap floated off down-stream, and Dick had disappeared from sight.

“Hold hard all!” yelled the cox. Then, “Back all!” But ere the shell had lost way enough to allow of its being paddled to the rescue, Dick had reappeared a few yards down-stream, had made hand over hand for his boat, and was clinging to the side, wiping the water from his face.

“At an angle!” he shouted, continuing his instructions as though no interruption had occurred, “and then you won’t be likely to ‘slice.’ Take ’em along, Keene; and, Stroke, lengthen out a bit!”

Amid the laughter of the onlookers the shell swept on again up the river, and Dick crawled over the bow of his tub and put back to the boat-house for a change of clothing.

But despite his most heroic efforts, neither the first nor second squad worked well; there appeared to be lack of spirit; a sort of “What’s the good of anything? Nothing!” feeling seemed to prevail among the candidates, and the discouragement that had been growing on Dick ever since Taylor’s resignation now took possession of him wholly. If Trevor had been there, he told himself, it wouldn’t have been so bad; he would have had some one to whom to confide his troubles; some one that would have listened patiently to his groans and growls, and who, by his unfailing cheerfulness and good nature, would have won him from his “blues.” He missed Trevor a good deal; in the evenings especially the study seemed lonesome, and with none to talk to, Dick could gain no entertainment from books, but gathered his lists and memoranda of crew men before him and pondered and studied over them until bedtime came and he crawled between the covers fagged and low-spirited.

In the St. Eustace Academy paper he read glowing accounts of the Blue’s eight that worried him yet more. Fifty-odd candidates had reported there for work shortly after the beginning of the new year; a spirit of enthusiasm reigned over the entire student body; the coach who had piloted the eight to a victory over Hillton the preceding spring had again taken hold, and the most encouraging prospect stretched before the rival school. With a groan he contrasted those conditions with the conditions which prevailed at Hillton; almost total indifference on the part of the school at large; a woful deficiency in candidates, both as to numbers and quality; a financial state which, while robust enough to supply the absolute necessities of the crews, was too slight to afford any of the extra expenditures that might in the struggle for success smooth the path toward victory; and, last of all, but not least, intestine strife.

On one occasion, heartily wearied of his own company, Dick slammed the door of Number 16 and plodded over the muddy roads to Carl Gray’s room in the village. Carl’s welcome was enthusiastic enough, but to Dick, with his own troubles everlastingly revolving themselves in his brain, the other lad’s chatter of baseball problems—none of them, Dick thought, weighty enough to cause a moment’s worry—only bored him; and he left early and made his way back to Masters and bed envious of Carl’s good fortune and more down on his luck than before.

Vacation came to an end in the early April days, and Trevor and the rest of the fellows returned to school, brightened and cheered in mind and body. Kirk also arrived, bag and baggage, and took up his quarters in the village, and Dick, with feelings of relief, mentally shoved a portion of his load of troubles onto the broad shoulders of the head coach. Trevor viewed Dick’s appearance with alarm.

“What in the name of all that’s silly have you been doing to yourself?” he demanded. “You look like a brass farthing of an old and rare vintage! Been ill?”

“No,” answered Dick. And then, acting on a sudden impulse, an overpowering desire for a confidant, he told Trevor everything; of Taylor’s desertion and Waters’s; of his fears for crew success; and finally of Taylor’s demands, ending with: “And I’ve decided to do it; I’m going to resign the captaincy and give him what he wants; I’m tired to death of the whole silly business!”

“Oh, don’t talk so sick!” cried Trevor in angry disgust. “You’ll resign nothing! I—I’d see Taylor at the bottom of the river before I’d come to terms with him! Give him the captaincy, indeed! Now, you get that notion out of your head, Dick, or I’ll—I’ll——”

“It’s all well enough for you to talk that way,” grumbled Dick, letting his discouragement have full sway and gaining not a little comfort thereby, “but I tell you things have come to a pass where something’s got to be done! We haven’t any crew; they’re just a boatful of chumps; they don’t care a fig whether they ever learn to row! And look at the rest of the fellows! They don’t care, either; they’d just as lief see Hillton beaten as not!”

“Rot!” ejaculated Trevor. “Of course they care. I’ll own they’re blooming chilly about it, but it’s because they don’t know what’s going on. And, look here, Dick, you’ve got no earthly right to resign from the captaincy for such a reason as that; if the fellows had wanted Roy Taylor for captain they’d have elected him. But they didn’t; they wanted you; so they elected you; and, by ginger, you’ve got to carry the thing through!”

“Much the fellows care!”

“And, look here, now, Dick, honestly, what kind of a fool captain would Taylor make?”

“As good as I, I dare say. He knows how to row——”

“That’s nothing; that doesn’t always fit a man to boss a lot of other men; a good captain’s got to know more than just how to row. He’s got to have grit, and patience, and generalship, and he’s got to be a fellow that the other fellows will look up to and believe in and obey; and that’s not Roy Taylor, not by a jugful, my angel child!”

“Well,” began Dick less dolefully.

“Well, don’t you go to doing anything foolish. Cheer up; take a rest; let the crew go hang for a few days.”

“Can’t do that,” answered Dick. “Wish I could.”

“Well, anyhow, Dick, stop thinking about your troubles, like a good fellow. And, if you won’t give up this bally resignation idea, why, promise not to do anything about it for—let me see—for two weeks; will you?”

And Dick grinned a trifle sheepishly and promised.