was wholly ignorant. And so, in full
confidence that, if he could only have a turn or two alone, he
should not only satisfy himself, but everybody else, that he was
a heaven-born oar, he refused all offers of companionship, and
started on the afternoon of a fine February day down to the boats
for his trial trip. He had watched his regular companions well
out of college, and gave them enough start to make sure that they
would be off before he himself could arrive at St. Ambrose's
dressing room at Hall's, and chuckled, as he came within sight of
the river, to see the freshmen's boat in which he generally
performed, go plunging away past the University barge, keeping
three different times with four oars, and otherwise demeaning
itself so as to become an object of mirthful admiration to all
beholders.

Tom was punted across to Hall's in a state of great content,
which increased when, in answer to his casual inquiry, the
managing man informed him that not a man of his college was about
the place. So he ordered a skiff with as much dignity and
coolness as he could command, and hastened up stairs to dress. He
appeared again, carrying his boating coat and cap. They were
quite new, so he would not wear them; nothing about him should
betray the freshman on this day if he could help it.

"Is my skiff ready?"

"All right, sir; this way, sir;" said the manager, conducting him
to a good, safe-looking craft. "Any gentleman going to steer,
sir?"

"No" said Tom, superciliously; "You may take out the rudder."

"Going quite alone, sir? Better take one of our boys--find you a
very light one. Here, Bill!"--and he turned to summons a juvenile
waterman to take charge of our hero.

"Take out the rudder, do you hear?" interrupted Tom. "I won't
have a steerer."

"Well, sir, as you please," said the manager, proceeding to
remove the degrading appendage. "The river's rather high, please
to remember, sir. You must mind the mill stream at Iffley Lock. I
suppose you can swim?"

"Yes, of course," said Tom, settling himself on his cushion.
"Now, shove her off."

The next moment he was well out in the stream, and left to his
own resources. He got his sculls out successfully enough, and,
though feeling by no means easy on his seat, proceeded to pull
very deliberately past the barges, stopping his sculls in the air
to feather accurately, in the hopes of deceiving spectators into
the belief that he was an old hand just going out for a gentl