Coach Willoughby's work being done in that particular, he now mounted his motor-cycle, and started up the river road, ready to shout directions to the Columbia crew as he saw they needed them.
Back of the racers several launches came kicking up a swirl, that however could have no effect on the dainty shells. And the single powerful boat on which the umpire had taken his stand, kept alongside the contestants, so that the eagle eye of the official might be constantly on the trio before him.
From time to time he would shout out warning words, as he discovered an evident intention on the part of some contesting crew to foul the others. If the misdemeanor proved too flagrant he would order that boat out of the race.
So the three shells vanished from the view of the great crowd that had gathered on either side of the river near the railroad bridge, where the goal stake had been planted, with a white cord across the water to mark the end.
Presently, as they eagerly listened, there came floating down to their ears a tremendous shout. It was being taken up by the patches of people lining the shores all the way up to Rattail Island.
"They're rounding the upper stake!" exclaimed "Crackers" Smith, one of Frank's crew, as he joined a group of anxious Columbia boys near the boathouse.
"Yes, and it seems to me that I can make out the Columbia yell above everything else," declared Frank, with a smile of pleasure.
"You're right, Frank!" cried Jonsey, quivering with eagerness, as he placed a trembling hand on the arm of his coxswain; "and I take it that means our boys have been the first to turn the stake up there. Hurrah!"
Frank eyed the speaker, while a slight frown passed across his forehead. Truth to tell he was more than anxious about Jonsey; and this positive sign of intense excitement did not go to allay his feeling.
"Take it cool, Jonsey. Time enough to yell after we get home ourselves. Let the other people do the shouting now," he said, soothingly.