ed, "I love you."
And then as she swooped by, he made a grab at her and tore her dress.

"You bad boy," she cried, with little discretion, "you tore my dress."

"You bad boy," repeated the young Hartley man, "yuhtoradress,
yuhtoradress."

Tom had managed to hurry her away, although his ankle hurt him
considerably, but not until all the notables had seen the performance.
What a mortifying affair. No doubt many supposed that he was the one who
had torn the dress.

Fortunately, Lily met a friend at the fire, and Tom was free for the
time being. Would the wind never die down? The flag on the coach's
launch was not quite so active. There was a rumour that they would start
at six-thirty. Only half an hour more. Well, he could stand that. Lily
seemed to be having a time with her new young man, and he limped over to
a neighbouring fire where there were fewer Lilies and more heat. There
he met a classmate of whom he was particularly fond; and before he knew
it the starter's launch had put out into the river, and the parties
around the fires were scampering back aboard the train. With
considerable difficulty he followed Lily up over the side, for his foot
was now swollen and painful. Finally, however, they were seated again,
buoyed up with the thought of the race's being at last under way--when
the starter's boat retired from the scene, and word arrived that the
race would not be rowed until seven.

Tom could not cover his disappointment.

"I don't think you are very polite!" said Lily.

"Sorry," replied Tom, his ankle throbbing.

"In fact I think you're horrid."

"Good!" said Tom. Lily looked her rage and half turned her back on him.
Well, that was something to be thankful for, at any rate.

They sat there in ever-increasing gloom. Some of the Lilies gamboled
back to shiver over the fires, but even they were beginning to droop.
Tom's Lily would have joined them--her new friend was not a wet
smack--but Tom, with his throbbing ankle, did not offer to go, and she
was too proud to suggest it. So they sat and waited.

The race was eventually rowed. At the starter's gun the train gave
another convulsive jerk, which sent Tom's injured foot flying against
the side of the car, and the crowd fanned into life its jaded
enthusiasm. Out in the gathering dusk the two crews inched their way
along. It was not quite clear which was which, the blades both showing
black, and though Lily was certain she had located Platt and cheered
l