And at the finish he can't even pretend that he's tired, like the
other men; even if there was any spectacular way of showing that he
was half-frozen he couldn't do it, because he alone is responsible if
one of the steamers runs over them and they are all drowned. We ought
to take off our hats to Cox; though, of course, if we did, Stroke
would think it was intended for him.

But indeed I take off my hat to all of them; not because of the race,
which, as I say, is a piece of hypocrisy, being rowed with the tide,
but because of the terrible preparation for the race. I wonder if it
is worth it. It is true that they have lady adorers on the towing-path
at Putney, and it is even rumoured that they receive anonymous
presents of chocolates. But presumably they are not allowed to eat
them, so that these can do little to alleviate their sufferings. It is
true also that for ever after (if their wives allow it) they can hang
an enormous oar on the wall and contemplate it after dinner. But,
after all, I can do that too, if I like; for I too have rowed over the
course.

And _I_ shall have a free view of the race. But none of them will see
it at all. They will all be looking at the back of the man in front,
except Stroke, whose eye will be riveted on the second button of Cox's
blazer. What a life!

A.P.H.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Shortsighted and quick-tempered Master of Hounds._