t yelled like a whole tribe of Indians, wildly waving flags,
hats and handkerchiefs, as the freshman boat shot out upon the lake,
with Merriwell at the stroke. They did not row in the buff, as the
weather was too cold, but all wore thin white shirts, with
"'Umpty-eight" lettered in blue on the breast.

Old rowers looked the freshmen over with astonishment, for they gave the
appearance of well-drilled amateurs, and not greenhorns. There were a
few expressions of approval. The novel stroke was watched and
criticised, and an old grad who was regarded as authority declared that
the man who set the stroke for that crew was a comer, providing he was
built of the right kind of stuff.

Then came the sophs and juniors, both pulling prettily and gracefully,
and both being cheered by their classes. The juniors were light, but
they expected to walk away from the freshmen, as they had an expert at
the stroke and had been coached by Collingwood.

Soon the three crews lined up, and the voice of the referee was heard:

"Are you ready?"

Dead silence.

"Go!"

Away shot the boats, and the sophs took the lead directly, their short,
snappy stroke giving the boat the required impetus in short order. The
juniors held close on to them, while the freshmen seemed to take
altogether too much time to get away, striking a regular, long, swinging
stroke that seemed to be "overdone," as a jubilant sophomore spectator
characterized it.

The sophs along the shore and on the point were wild with delight. They
danced and howled, confident of victory at the very outset. The juniors
were enthusiastic, but not so demonstrative as the sophomores. The
freshmen cheered, but there seemed to be disappointment in the sound.

"Whoop 'er up for 'Umpty-seven!" howled the sophs. "Whoop 'er up! 'Rah!
'rah! 'rah! This is a cinch!"

"'Umpty-eight is in it; she will catch 'em in a minute," sang the
freshmen. "She is crawling on them!"

"All she can do is crawl!" yelled a soph, but his remark was drowned in
the wild tumult of noise.

"'Umpty-six is up to tricks!" shouted the juniors. "'Umpty-six, they
are bricks! Whoop 'er up! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"

The yelling of the freshmen became louder, for their crew was holding
its own--was beginning to gain.

"That is the best freshman crew that ever appeared at Saltonstall,"
declared a spectator. "Every man seems to be a worker. There's no one
shirking."

"And look at the stroke oar," urged another. "That fellow