"Ho! ho! ho! hi! hi! hi! veni! vidi! vici! Columbia!"
Herman Hooker was drilling his shouters up on the river bank, and their concerted voices came in waves of sound to the hundreds who were thronging about the boathouse of the young athletes.
Under the direction of Chief Hogg a rope barrier had been stretched so as to keep the curious throng at a certain distance. Far and near had the news gone in connection with the attempted burning of the building. Visitors from Clifford and Bellport were just as vigorous in their denunciation of the outrage as the citizens of Columbia.
"This sort of thing has got to be stopped, or else sport will be killed in this section!" declared one leading man from the town up the river.
Frank Allen heard it, and felt satisfied that a movement would soon be inaugurated that must prevent the making of open wagers on any sort of school sport.
"Perhaps after all this last affair may turn out a good thing," he remarked to Roderic Seymour, who stood near him, clad in his scant rowing costume, consisting of a sleeveless tunic, a pair of short trousers coming above the knee, and a pair of low shoes with rubber soles.
"So I was thinking. But it was a mean game, and I'd hate to be in the shoes of the fellow who tried it, if the boys ever caught him," returned Roderic.
"They'd like to tar and feather him. I've heard some ferocious threats passed around. But unfortunately we haven't a bit of evidence to connect any one with it," Frank remarked.
"How about Buster—didn't he see enough of the fellow in the house before he smacked him, to tell what he was like?" asked Seymour.
"He says not. It was nearly dark, remember. And then besides, Buster had just been roused out of a sound sleep, and you couldn't expect that he would be able to see much under such circumstances," replied Frank, who was looking around as if in search of some one.