The river is broad here below Marshall, and forms what is almost a basin, hemmed in on either side by low wooded bluffs.  From where Joel and West, with a crowd of Hillton fellows, stood midway upon the bridge, the starting point, nearly a mile and a half up stream was plainly visible, and the finish line was a few rods above them.  West was acquainted with several of the St. Eustace boys, and to these Joel was introduced and was welcomed by them with much cordiality and examined with some curiosity.  He had accomplished the defeat of their Eleven, and they would know what sort of youth he was.

While they were talking, leaning against the railing of the bridge, Joel suddenly caught West’s arm and drew his attention to a boy some distance away who was looking toward the starting point through a pair of field glasses.  West indulged in a long whistle, plainly indicative of amazement.

“Who’s that fellow over there?” he asked.  One of the St. Eustace boys followed the direction of his gaze.

“Well, you ought to know him.  He knows you.  That’s Bartlett Cloud.  He was at Hillton last term, and left because he was put off the Eleven; or so he says.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Outfield West.  “He left to keep from being expelled, he did.  He left because he was mixed up in some mighty dirty work, and knew that, even if they let him stay in school, no decent fellow would associate with him.  And you can tell him from me that if he says I know him he’s a liar.  I don’t know him from—­from mud!  I should think you’d be proud of him at Eustace.”

“We didn’t know that,” answered the St. Eustace boy in perplexity.  “We thought—­”

“What?” demanded West as the other paused.

“Well, he said that the coach was down on him, and gave his place to your friend here, and—­”

“No,” answered Joel quietly.  “I didn’t take his place.  He tried to strike me one day at practice, and Remsen, our coach, put him off.  That was all.  Afterward he—­he—­But it isn’t worth talking about.”

“But I didn’t know that St. Eustace made a practice of taking in cast-off scamps from other schools,” said West.  The other lad flushed as he answered apologetically: 

“We didn’t know, West.  He said he was a friend of yours and so—­But the other fellows shall know about him.”  Then there was a stir on the bridge and a voice cried, “There they go to the float!”

Up the stream at the starting point two shells were seen leisurely paddling toward a float anchored a few yards off the right bank.  The colors were easily distinguishable, and especially did the crimson of Hillton show up to the eager watchers on the bridge.  Every eye was turned toward the two boats, and a silence held the throng, a silence which lasted until sixteen oar-blades caught the water almost together, and the two boats began to leave the float behind.  Then cries of “They’re off!” were raised, and there was a general shoving and pushing for places of observation on the up-stream side of the structure, while along the banks the crowds began to move about again.