As it was, though Parrett's was morally bound to win, it was clear the race would be a fierce one, and hardly fought every foot.
Such was the general opinion in Willoughby that Tuesday evening after the last practice had come to an end, and when the boats were finally housed for the night only to reappear next day in racing trim.
Young Wyndham, as he sat in Riddell's study with his books before him, could as soon have done a stroke of work as fly over the schoolhouse elms.

Indeed, it was such a farce for him even to make the attempt that he shut up his books and gave up the idea.
"I say, Riddell," he said, presently, addressing the captain, who, though excited too after his own fashion, was poring determinedly over his work.
"Well ?" asked he, looking up.
"I say, _do_ you think there's any chance of our boat winning ?" The boy asked the question so anxiously that one might have supposed his whole happiness in life depended on the answer.
"It's very hard to say," said Riddell.

"I think we have some chance, at any rate." "You did the course in as good time as Parrett's yesterday, didn't you ?" said Wyndham.
"Yes, but we had a better tide," said Riddell.
Wyndham's face clouded, for he knew it was true.
"You _must_ win, I say," said he, almost fiercely.
Riddell smiled.
"I mean to oblige you if I can, for one," said he.
"If they win," said Wyndham, "it'll be--" But what it would be the youthful enthusiast lacked words to express.
Riddell turned again to his writing.
"Hadn't you better finish your work ?" said he.
"Oh, I can't!" exclaimed Wyndham.

"Who could work just before the race ?" So saying, he got up and gathered together his things.
Riddell was sorry for this.

He had hoped the boy would stay.