Hillton suddenly hit up her
stroke to thirty-four, to thirty-six, to thirty-eight, and, a bit ragged
perhaps, but nevertheless at a beautiful speed, drew up to St. Eustace,
shoved her nose a quarter length past, and hung there, despite St.
Eustace's best efforts to shake her off.
Both boats were now straining their uttermost, and from now on to the
finish it was to be the stiffest rowing of which each was capable.
Hillton _was_ ragged on the port side, and bow was plainly tuckered.
But St. Eustace also showed signs of wear, and there was an evident
disposition the length of the boat to hurry through the stroke. Joel was
straining his eyes on the crimson backs, and West was vainly and
unconsciously endeavoring to see through the glasses from the wrong end.
The three-quarter mark swept past the boats, and Hillton still
maintained her lead.
The judges' boat, a tiny, saucy naphtha launch, had steamed down to the
finish, and now quivered there as though from impatience and excitement,
and awaited the victor. Suddenly there was a groan of dismay from the
St. Eustace supporters. And no wonder. Their boat had suddenly dropped
behind until its nose was barely lapping the rival shell. Number Four
was rowing "out of time and tune," as Joel shouted triumphantly, and
although he soon steadied down, the damage was hard to repair, for
Hillton, encouraged by the added lead, was rowing magnificently.
But with strokes that brought cries of admiration even from her foes St.
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