Jack, Pepper, Andy, and Joe Nelson were working like steam engines, and the same may be said of their opponents. On and on swept the two rowboats toward the finish line. There was a wild yelling along the lake front and from the various boats gathered around.

“Come, we must win!” shouted Joe Nelson, and seemed to suddenly wake up. Jack and the others also renewed their exertions, and now their spurt carried them a foot in the lead.

“Here they come!”

“Jack Ruddy’s boat is ahead!”

“Paxton is crawling up again!”

It was true, the rivals were also spurting, and for a moment the two craft were side by side once more. But Paxton’s crew could not keep up the terrific pace, and suddenly they fell back, and Jack and his friends shot over the line winners by a full length.

“Hurrah! Jack Ruddy’s crew wins!”

“It was a stiff race though, wasn’t it?”

“It was, indeed!”

As soon as he saw that he had lost Paxton fell down in his boat and put his hand to his side.

“What’s the matter, Paxton?” asked George Strong, who was in a boat nearby.

“Got a—a pain in—my—side,” gasped Paxton. “It’s the old trouble, sir.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I—I could have won if—it—wasn’t—for—that,” went on Paxton.

“Possibly,” returned the assistant teacher.

“He and his crew were beat clean and clear,” whispered one of the cadets nearby, and this opinion was the opinion of the majority who witnessed the race.

When Jack and his crew landed at the boathouse a crowd surrounded them, slapping them on the backs and shaking hands.

“It was well won!” cried Bart Conners. “But, say, wasn’t there something the matter with your boat at first?”

“Sure there was,” answered Pepper. “Somehow, a rope caught fast to the bottom. If 

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