“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 good enough to repeat that remark?” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke and holding his roll daintily poised in his fingers.

“I said that you must stop smoking cigarettes.”

“Well, what did you mean?”

“I am in the habit of saying what I mean,” was the quiet answer as Frank scanned the paper over which he had been pondering for some time.