handkerchief and
smiling to his admiring friends.

But it is time to quit these friends and make our way to the boats
themselves, which now lie waiting for their crews to embark.

This is always a tedious process for onlookers. The shifting of
stretchers, the getting-out of oars, the arrangement of rudder strings,
and the delicate trimming of the boat, may be interesting enough to the
crews themselves, but only feed the impatience of onlookers.

And as usual hitches are bound to occur. Coates has got the oar
belonging to Crossfield. And when this mistake has been remedied,
Bloomfield in the other boat suddenly discovers that his stretcher is a
little weak, and insists on waiting till a new one is brought.

Finally everything is ready, and the two boats slowly swing out into
mid-stream. The schoolhouse boat has won the toss, for it takes up the
inside berth, amid the triumphant cheers of its partisans.

"Hurrah! you're inside," they cry.

"Mind you put them into the bank," is the derisive echo of the enemy.

"Now, Fairbairn; now, you fellows," cries Wyndham's voice.

"Now, boss Riddell--mind your eye. Pull your left when you want to go
right," shout the facetious Welchers.

Riddell had long got past the stage of being flurried by shouts from the
bank. He feels nervous undoubtedly, but he does not look it, as he
quietly tries his rudder-lines and settles himself on his seat.

Fairbairn is as cool as ever. To look at him he might be just starting
for a quiet saunter up-stream. And the crew behind him are equally
composed, as they lie on their oars waiting for the start.

But the Parrett's crew, as they come smartly up and take their outside
berth, receive an ovation far beyond that of their rivals. They are
undoubtedly the popular crew, as well as the favourites.

Every man in the boat has done something for Willoughby in times past,
and as the boys see their heroes ready now for a fresh triumph, they
forget all about their little tyrannies indoors, and cheer them like
mad.

"Bravo Parrett's. Bravo, Bloomfield! Hurrah, captain! You're to win."

Even the Welchers for the moment join in the popular clamour.

"Go it, you cripples!" cries Cusack, encouragingly; "no milksop
captains. Two to one on Bloomfield!"

All this time the boats are lying in position. Mr Parrett on the
little steam-launch behind surveys them critically, and satisfies
himself that all is square. Then he advances to the pro