Frank Allen was just finishing his breakfast at about seven o'clock when the telephone bell rang. He leisurely arose, and stepped into the hall to pick up the receiver, thinking that it might be Lanky, or one of his other chums, Paul Bird or Ralph West.
"Hello! hello!" he called.
"Is this Mr. Allen's house?" came the question.
"Yes, sir, it is," answered Frank, wondering who it could be.
"Is Frank Allen there?" demanded the unknown.
"This is Frank speaking to you. What do you want?" asked the boy, feeling a little thrill of expectancy.
"I understand that you are the coxswain of the Columbia High School Boat Club?"
"Oh! no, only of the eight-oared shell," replied Frank, modestly.
"That's just it. I'm Brierly, the freight agent at the railroad station. I want to ask you something about that boat," came over the wire.
"Yes, what about it, Mr. Brierly?" queried the boy, eagerly, for he had just been about to hurry down to superintend the removal of that precious shell to the river, so that the coach could put the crew through a severe trial that morning in the boat that was take the place of the discarded one.