iberate in getting under way. Hamlen
glanced at his watch nervously and was surprised that so little time had
elapsed since his last observation. Finally they found themselves
opposite the judge's boat. Harvard was already nearing the mark and the
Yale crew followed only a few lengths in her wake. Hamlen watched the
manoeuvers, disturbed by the conflicting cheers coming in sharp
staccato from every direction. At last the boats lined up in position.
Hamlen fancied that he could hear the referee's challenge: "Ready,
Harvard? Ready, Yale?" Then the pistol cracked out with reverberating
echoes, the oars gripped the water, the shells shot forward, and the
race was on!

Hamlen's face set grimly and he sat bolt upright, taking no part in the
mad cheering or the boisterous excitement. His eyes followed every
stroke of the oars, and he suffered keenly as the Yale boat took a lead
of half-a-length at the quarter-mile. Then he saw Harvard settle down to
her work with a stroke quickened enough to enable her to take the
advantage. The same stroke kept the crimson boat forging steadily ahead.
At the half-mile the positions were reversed, at the mile clear water
showed between the shells, another mile added two lengths more, in spite
of Yale's plucky efforts to close in on the gaping space. At three miles
Harvard had five lengths to the good, and for the first time Hamlen
relaxed his tense attitude.

"If it would not be a case of overconfidence," he said quietly to his
companions, "I should say that Harvard was going to win!"

"Nothing but an act of God can save Eli now!" Cosden replied between his
cheers. "Why don't you yell?"

"I can't," Hamlen said; "I feel it too much!"

Still the crimson boat gained, and the contest had changed into a
procession.

"Do they ever lose with a lead like that?" he asked Huntington
anxiously.

"Lose!" his friend shouted,--"lose! They're gaining every stroke! Rah!
rah! rah! Harvard! Harvard! Harvard! There they go across the line!"

He threw his arms deliriously around Cosden and Hamlen and they
performed a war-dance on the unsubstantial seats. Every Harvard
sympathizer on the train had gone mad, and the Yale streamers were
buried in the avalanche of crimson flags.

"Another one!" Huntington shouted; "another wreath for the Alma Mater,
Hamlen! Rah, rah, rah! Harvard!"

Hamlen had caught the contagion and was as affected with delirium as
those around him. He shouted his college yell over and