CHAPTER XXIII
ON THE HOME STRETCH
"Here they come!"
"Hurrah for the boys of good old Columbia!"
"Don't shout before you're out of the woods, fellows! This is the time Clifford trims your athletes good and hard!" shrilled a brawny lad from up the river, as he waved a little flag defiantly in the faces of the Columbia enthusiasts.
"Will they. Maybe—maybe not!" laughed Jack Eastwick, mockingly.
"Why, you've got a busted balloon in your crew. That fellow wants to try a race of a mile. Four miles is a man's race! Put him in the baby class," cried the other.
"Just take notice, Clifford, that Mr. Jonsey isn't grabbing his share of the cedar shell now as they swing it into the water. There's another drafted in his place. You saw him row before, because he was in the four-oared race. See that sorreltop chap—well, that's the boy who's going to lick you out of your boots! That's Ginger Harper!"
