Canoeists paddled bravely against the current, or came spinning down on its bosom like flying corks.
Above the clamor and laughter and little feminine shrieks could be heard the strident voice of the trainer as he called:
"Now, increase your stroke gradually, coxswain! Hit the water, Number Four! Once again, and a little harder this time! Row easy, all! Leave off pulling!" and over and over the rounds, while the eight rowers were striving to make themselves as much of a machine as possible, with Frank bending backwards and forwards as though he were the pendulum of a clock.
In one section of the water there was a tremendous lot of enthusiasm. Here several fellows in bathing suits were practicing the difficult art of navigating ordinary tubs, with a small paddle of the regulation size to aid them.
Buster Billings seemed to be the more expert and master spirit of the lot. The fat boy somehow just took to this sort of thing, and could make his tub whirl along downstream in a bewildering series of turns, but with a speed that quickly distanced his competitors.
"If Buster can keep up the good work to-morrow, Columbia will be sure of one prize, anyhow," everybody was saying, with great good humor; for the
