for Burrton. Pandemonium reigned
on the seats at the goal post end of the course. Shouts of "Carlisle!
Carlisle!" rose up through the din of megaphones and screech of whistles
from the launches. Paul looked at Walter. The boy had risen, flung his
hat up anywhere and was waving his arms like a maniac, screaming out the
name of Carlisle, the crack stroke of Burrton. And then, without a
second's warning, the big stroke, the hero of the Burrton crew, whose
name was on a thousand tongues, suddenly bent forward and collapsed over
his oar. The oar itself crashed into the line and the Burrton boat
lurched over on the opposite side.

"Row on, row on!" screamed the Burrton coxswain. "Only ten yards to the
green and red post."

But Brainerd shot by grimly, her bow slipped past the crippled shell and
across the line, a winner by more than a length, and the race was over.

For the first few seconds the Burrton crowd did not realise what had
happened. The Burrton's shell swung up sideways to the referee's boat
and the crew sat sullenly stooping over their oars. Carlisle lay in a
huddled heap, a sorry spectacle for a school hero, while the coxswain
scooped up handfuls of water and flung them over him.

Then a hubbub of questions rent the air.

"How did it happen?"

"Are we really beaten?"

"Did Brainerd foul?"

"Was Carlisle doped?"

"What was it? Half a length?"

"Ours by a fluke."

"Who was to blame?"

Added to all the rest, Paul was smitten with the torrent of profanity
that burst from scores of Burrton men as the truth that they were beaten
began to come forcibly home to them. Paul had lived long enough to know
that the passion of gambling always rouses the worst exhibitions of
human selfishness. But it was a new revelation to him to see these
smartly dressed rich men's sons cursing God and profaning the name of
Christ because they had bet heavily on their boat crew and lost. In the
midst of all their oaths the name of Carlisle came in for heavy scoring.
From the heights of the most extravagant hero-worship he had suddenly
tumbled into this cesspool of profane unpopularity. All of which goes to
prove any number of useful things, among them the necessity, if you are
going to be stroke oar of a boat crew, it is best if you would retain
your popularity to keep in training until the season is over, and even
then it is not certain that you will always escape the other extreme of
being overtrained.

But Paul's attenti