Still, a length was all that was needed, and much more, to win. The two boats shot under the bridge the same distance apart, and a shrieking of whistles, tooting of horns, added to the shouts of five thousand people, told that the four-oared race had become history.
Columbia High had won!
Students wearing the favorite gold and purple literally fell into each other's arms, weak from much frantic shouting. Flags fluttered along the banks of the river; and a little cannon commenced to boom the good news to the whole of Columbia that did not happen to be present.
Frank had watched the close of the drama with eager eyes. He noted the swing of the rowers in that Columbia shell, and particularly of the stroke oar, who was no other than the "Ginger" Harper, of whom he and Seymour had been talking.
"It was a big mistake to let him go," muttered Frank; "I said so at the time. But Jonsey is a good fellow, and had many friends to push his candidacy, so he got on. But I'd feel considerable more confidence if we had that fellow with us!"
He sighed as he spoke. It seemed hard to think that a single mistake might cost them the victory, and the cup go to either Clifford or Bellport, probably the former as they seemed to be better in river work than they had been on the diamond.
But it must not be imagined from this that Frank had given up hope, by any means. Far from it. He was just as determined as ever that he would jockey his team along the way to victory. Only he hoped Jonsey would hold out through the grilling four-mile pull, half of it against a current that tried the sturdiest of muscles.
There was to be the power-boat race next, and then the morning's sports would conclude with the most interesting event of all, the trial between the rival crews of the eight-oared shells, picked fellows of the various schools, and supposed to be evenly matched for such a long and arduous pull.
CHAPTER XIII
EVEN LEF GETS HIS SHARE