Then came the home stretch; the last telling, racking effort of the two-mile triangle.  The Chicago was still pulling a splendid thirty-eight as they swept by the stake-boat, but once the turn was made oars flashed up to forty-two, for the Olympia’s nose had forged half a length ahead after that turn.

Meantime pandemonium had cut loose in the launches as well as on board the ships, and if yelling, hooting, or calls through megaphones could put power into a stroke, certainly no inspiration was wanting.

Half the last stretch was covered, the lads rowing in splendid form when the Chicago’s men started in to break the record and their launch went mad as they spurted to forty-six to overhaul their rival’s lead.  But a forty-six stroke is just a trifle more than can be held in a heavy cutter with twelve, fourteen and sixteen-foot oars weighing many pounds each; it simply could not be held.

“Give ’em forty-two for a finish, fellows,” bawled the Olympia’s coxswain through his megaphone, literally pro bono publico.  And forty-two did the trick, for forty-six could not be held, and the Olympia’s cutter swept past the stake-boat a length in the lead, while Captain Boynton on the bridge beside the admiral of the fleet fairly jumped up and down.

Alas, and alack for the dance on board the Chicago and the tea to be served to her admiring guests!

One of the conditions of that tea and dance was victory with a capital V for the hosts.

“Bring ’em aboard!  Bring ’em aboard!  Pass the order,” rumbled the admiral.

“Just as they are!” questioned Boynton, not quite sure that he understood aright.

“Yes!  Yes!  Bring ’em aboard!”

“What will the ladies say?” gasped Boynton.  “These rowing togs are rather sketchy.”

“Hang their clothes!  Get ’em some.  Pass the word, man.  Bring them up the starboard gangway.  Bring ’em up, I say, and get down there to welcome them!  They own the ship and everything on board!”

Boynton lost no time in passing the word and hurrying down to greet the winning crew and it seemed as though the whole personnel of the old Olympia had gone stark mad.

But to see and hear was to obey and the Olympia’s lads, clad in raiment conspicuous principally for its limitations, came piling up the sacred starboard gangway to be met by Captain Boynton who grasped each hand in turn as he shouted: 

“You’re a bunch worth while!  You spoiled their tea party!  You busted up their dance, confound you, you scamps!  You did ’em up in shape and we’re the whole show!  Now go below and get fit to be seen, then come back and let the ladies feed you and make fools of you, for they’ll do it all right.”

And they were fed!  They were ready to be.  A pull over such a course means an appetite, but whether these level-headed chaps were made fools of is open to question.

It was long after dark before that frolic ended, and the ships were a fairy spectacle of electric lights, the band’s strains floating across the water as light feet tripped to the inspiring strains of waltz or two-step.