The erstwhile gallant crew of The Sleet lay upon the grass in front of Academy Building in the shadow thrown by the wall that runs along the edge of the bluff. About them in little piles lay various worn and tattered books. Dick and Carl, propped upon their elbows, were nibbling the succulent ends of grass blades. Trevor lay flat upon his back, gazing steadfastly upward at the slowly marching clouds, supreme content upon his sunburned face. Stewart Earle sat cross-legged and performed wonderful feats with a pearl-handled penknife. It was a few minutes before two; dinner was over and the bell had not yet rung for recitations.

Before them the warm red bulk of Academy Building, already hidden in wide expanses with tender green ivy leaves, arose against the velvety blue of the sky. In the tower a quivering disk of dazzling light marked where the sun shone upon the old bell. The trees were in full leaf, and the green was a little forest of light and shade and murmurous branches. Even the river dozed, below the bluff turquoise blue unbroken by swirl or eddy, beyond in the distance aglint with the sun. In the dormitories the windows were thrown wide, and boys lazed on the cushioned seats. There was a tuneful, unceasing hum of insects; the sun shone hotly; summer had come to the valley of the Hudson. It was the third day of June, a fact just remarked upon by Stewart, who had casually added that it was the anniversary of the Battle of Cold Harbor. This exciting announcement went unnoticed for a moment. Then Carl yawned loudly.

“Don’t believe it,” he muttered. More silence followed. Then, “It is extremely bad taste,” said Dick, “to air your knowledge in—that—in that——” Then his teeth closed on an unusually attractive grass stem and he subsided. A little breeze crept up the slope from the campus and stirred the brown locks over Trevor’s forehead. He sat up suddenly and observed Dick and Carl in fine disdain.

“Lazy beggars,” he muttered. At great labor and with many harrowing groans he reached about and gathered a handful of grass. Dick knew what was coming, but hadn’t the energy to prepare for resistance until it was too late. Then he sat up himself and, pulling the wad from his neck, stuffed it down Carl’s. Every one giggled; it was really very funny for a warm day. The quartet were now sitting in a circle, even Carl showing signs of life. Conversation appeared to be necessary. Dick opened his lips and closed them again without a sound. Trevor came to the rescue.

“Hot,” he remarked.

“You’re an awful chatterbox,” sighed Carl. But the spell was broken.

“Only two weeks to the end of school,” said Dick. “By Jove, I’d just like to know where the time’s gone; it doesn’t seem any time since spring vacation!”

“That’s so,” answered Carl. “Another two weeks and it’ll be all over, and good-by to old Hillton. It’s funny how sorry it makes a chap. That’s the odd thing about it; it doesn’t seem so fine until you have to leave it all. I wonder if I’ll have as good a time at college?”

“I know,” mused Dick sentimentally, “it’s almost like leaving home. I wish—I wish I was going to stay another year!”

“My, you’re funny,” quoth Stewart. “Catch me being sorry when I get through!”

“Wait; you will be,” answered Carl. “There’s a whole raft of fellows going up to Harwell this year, isn’t there? Do you know anything about your room yet, Dick?”

“No; I guess I’ll find a small one near the Yard for this year. When Trevor comes he and I are going to room together, aren’t we, old chap?”

“If you’re good,” answered his chum gravely. When hostilities had ended Carl said reminiscently:

“It’s been a pretty good year for Hillton, hasn’t it?”

“So far; if you only beat St. Eustace at baseball, and if we can only win on the river it’ll be the best year on record, I guess. We certainly did her up finely at the interscholastic meet, eh?”

“I should say so! Forty-three points to twenty-nine! And little Stew here to thank for ten of them. Take off your hat, Stew!”

“’Tis off.”

“I’ll never forget the way in which he ran away from that St. Eustace fellow in the half-mile,” continued Carl, smiling. “And to think that when he came here three years ago he couldn’t turn the door-knob without using both hands!”

“Oh, dry up,” said Stewart.

“I guess you’re pretty certain to beat St. Eustace at baseball, aren’t you, Carl?”

“Yes, pretty certain; barring accidents we ought to have little trouble. We play Shrewsburg again Saturday, and I believe we’ll shut her out.”

“Don’t get too confident,” warned Dick.

“No fear; and I don’t talk like this before the fellows. But we’ve really got the finest lot of players that I ever saw.”

“I know. Well, if you get both games from St. Eustace your name will go down to posterity in red letters with a wreath about it. I only wish I was as hopeful as you are.”

“Old Dick wouldn’t let himself get hopeful if we had a boatful of tailor’s dummies to row against,” said Trevor. “There isn’t any possibility of our getting beaten on the fifteenth—barring accidents.”

“But the trouble is we can’t bar accidents,” replied Dick. “They will happen even in the best regulated of crews. Somebody’s certain to take sick or sprain his wrist or something.”

“Isn’t he an old granny?” asked Trevor disgustedly.

“I hear you had a shake-up yesterday?” queried Carl.

“A little one; Kirk took Milton out and is trying Cheever at three. And he dropped Rankin from the second eight. That was all. I guess we’ll row about the way we are now. St. Eustace’s coach read the riot act last week, they say; dumped two men out of the boat and raked every one over the coals. Oh, well, we’ll know all about it in a couple of weeks.”

“I wish I was as certain of exams as I am that we’ll beat St. Eustace,” said Trevor. “By the way, Dick, the pater’s coming up for class day to see you graduate. Stewart, they’re going to draw for the tennis tournament to-night in Chandler’s room.”

“How many entries are there?” asked Carl.

“Twenty-two. I hope I don’t get drawn for the preliminary round, that’s all. I’d hate to get thrown out of it so early and have no——”

“There she goes,” said Stewart, jumping up.

The bell in the tower rang lazily, and the four entered Academy Building for two o’clock recitations.

May had slipped into June, and June had brought fresh impetus in every outdoor pursuit. The school was rowing mad, just as it always was in June, and every day groups of fellows congregated at the boat-house or watched the proceedings from the path above. The trying period of instruction in a pair-oar at the hands of Malcolm Kirk or, as upon occasions, at those of Dick, was over and practice had simmered down to businesslike work in stretches of from an hour to two hours each day. It wasn’t all rowing; often the men leaned motionless over their oars while Kirk from the deck of the little Terrible talked to them for a quarter of an hour at a time on the error of their way. Always, nowadays, there was ten minutes or so of practicing starts; often the varsity and second were drawn up on the mark, and were given the word together; and alas for the boat that was behind at the tenth stroke! But it was the best of training, and the proficiency in quick starting which they finally secured stood them in good stead later.

There was less fault-finding on the part of the coach with the fellows as individuals now. The work as a whole received the bulk of his attention, and the most serious fault he had to contend with was a tendency to raise the stroke by rushing the body forward instead of putting more force into the pull through. There were lesser faults, besides; plenty of them; there was probably never yet a perfect crew, and certainly Hillton’s varsity was in no danger of becoming one. But on the whole the fellows rowed well, making the most of the long stroke, taking kindly enough to the rather severe leg-work, and gradually acquiring the ability to spurt quickly and evenly. For this, naturally, much credit belonged to Dick, who, at stroke, displayed wonderful steadiness, and inspired the crew with a sensation of balance and security that promised to accomplish much in time of stress. Taylor, at Number 7, worked with Dick as one cog-wheel works with another, and Kirk was well satisfied with the stern of the varsity boat at least. In the waist a source of some trial was Waters, who of late had displayed a tendency to clip his stroke. Trevor was doing finely at Number 4, and had vindicated Kirk’s first impression of him, and Professor Beck’s as well, and, for that matter, his own. But perhaps the best feature displayed by the crew was a hearty willingness to work; there were no sluggards in the boat, and an earnest resolve to wrest victory from St. Eustace inspired all.

Taylor had kept his promise, though Dick, to be sure, had never doubted that he would do so. In the course of time the sprained knee was pronounced healed, and he had taken his place in the boat again and had fitted into it in such a way that Dick was convinced that his sacrifice, had it been necessary, would not have been too dear a price to pay for the other’s return. The two saw but little of each other outside of training, and the trouble that had threatened Hillton with defeat on the water was never alluded to by either. If they were not friends neither were they enemies, and each had risen in the other’s estimation.