e English oar is superior,
don't yer know," put in Willis Paulding.

"That's not surprising in your case," said Emery.

"That's not all Merriwell has done," declared Hartwick.

"What else has he done?"

"He has introduced the Oxford style of catch, finish and length of
strokes, which means a longer swing, with more leg and body work."

"Well, that will cook 'em!" cried Tad Horner. "If he has done that,
we'll make a show of those greenies."

"What reason have you for thinking anything of the sort?"

"Every reason. The regular Yale stroke cannot be improved upon. That is
beyond question."

Hartwick smiled wearily.

"That's what I call conceit," he said. "You don't know whether it can be
improved upon or not."

There was an outburst of protests by the boys, who believed, as almost
every Yale man believes, that Yale methods are correct and cannot be
improved upon. Hartwick was regarded as disloyal, and all felt like
giving it to him hot.

"A longer body swing is certain to make a difficult recovery," said
Browning. "That is plain enough."

"Not if the men are worked right and put in proper form," declared
Hartwick. "I have been told that the English long stroke and recovery is
very graceful and easy, and that it does not wear on a man like the
American stroke."

"By Jawve! I think that's right, don't yer know," said Paulding.

"What you think doesn't count," muttered Tad Horner.

"With such a stroke and swing the men are bound to recover on their
toes," asserted Browning.

"Oh, rats!" said Punch Swallows. "What does that amount to, anyway, in a
case like this? We are talking of this tub load of freshmen as if they
were the 'Varsity crew. What's the use? It won't make any difference
what kind of a stroke they use. They are mighty liable to use several
different kinds, and they won't be in it at all, my children. Let's go
down to Morey's and oil up."

"Go ahead," said Hartwick, grimly. "But you will think over what I have
said after the race comes off."

The boys put on their caps and trooped out, laughing and talking as they
went.

CHAPTER XVIII.

MERRIWELL AND RATTLETON.

"Harry!"

"Hello!"

"You've got to stop smoking those confounded cigarettes."

Harry Rattleton let his feet fall with a thump from the table on which
they had been comfortably resting and turned about to stare at
Merriwell, his roommate. His face expressed astonishment, not unmingled
with anger.

"Will you be goo