"Good idea," exclaimed several, with enthusiasm, and forthwith they all donned the special maroon bathing suits that Mr. Herrick had provided for his life guards. But it is hard to tell whether it was the desire to acquire a good coat of tan or the opportunity afforded them to display their rather pretentious bathing suits, that moved them to take this step. However, fifteen minutes later, a group of ten uniformed and more or less self-conscious beach guards were sunning themselves in front of the south station in full view of the thousands of people who were gathering on the board walk to view the races.
By eleven o'clock the crowd had increased to a veritable horde. Thousands lined the board walk from the garages to the finish line and hundreds of automobiles were parked in every roadway. Special guards, composed of the local troop of boy scouts with their staffs and a troop of militia from Portland had been detailed to keep the sightseers orderly and in position on the board walk. They were all having their hands full accomplishing the task, however, for the automobile enthusiasts began to get restless as the time for the start of the races drew near.
At five minutes after eleven the band on the recreation pier, which had been blaring forth popular airs for an hour, ceased, and a moment later the judges made their appearance on the beach. This was a signal for prolonged cheering on the part of the crowd. But the noise stopped When a single individual carrying a black and white flag stepped out into the course and began wigwagging. He was signaling to another individual at the garages, who in turn transmitted his signal to the starting line in the dim distance down the beach.
"That means everything is ready. The first car will start in a moment," said Jiminy Gordon nervously.
Every one was gazing down the beach, where a tiny black blotch on the sand marked the dozen or more racing cars held ready for the start. Then when every one was waiting tense and silent—boom! came the muffled echo of the starting gun. —They're off! cried the crowd, and far, far down the beach the scouts could see the tiniest black speck coming toward them. Soon they heard a curious far-off drone which developed quickly into a grumble, then into a fusillade of loud bangs as the racing car approached. The scouts were all on their feet now, nervous and expectant.
"Osterhout, the German," cried the spectators, as the long, low racer drew near.
Then almost before the scouts could wink, it had roared past, its hood enveloped in blue flames and its driver bending low over the steering gear.
"Gee whiz!" was all that the amazed scouts could say when the big car roared across the line.
A brief but tense silence followed the finish of the run, for the crowd waited while the judges, by means of an elaborate system of telephone communicated with the starters, fixed the time. Presently, however, the huge scoreboard on the recreation pier displayed: Osterhout, two minutes 34 seconds. This announcement was greeted by a roar, for the German had equaled the world record for five miles.
"Cracky," cried Jimmy Gordon, "Dan Dacy will have to go some to beat that. Just think, if Osterhout had been one-fifth of a second faster he'd have smashed the world's record. Gosh, I wish—"