Chapter 3
Suite Affair
THERE WERE CLOUDS crossing the crescent moon when I went on deck; there was dancing aft, to music from Villa Vallee, in New York. I stood near the rail, on the port side, and looked at the boathouses of the different crews. While I was doing it, Don Rayne came along, pulling on an upside-down pipe. He stopped near me and squinted his blue eyes toward the west shore of the Hudson.
“Damn!” he breathed. “I’d like to be over there— out there tomorrow with my fingers around wood!”
I nodded sympathetically. “But you’d take a licking,” I said. “That’s not so much fun.”
He shrugged. “Columbia might fool them,” he said. “She’s got a green crew, but they’re strong. And Phelps is the best coach of the lot.”
I said: “The odds are around three to one against her. California
