"Who's there?" asked Frank quickly.
"Monitor Jones," was the answer. "The warning bell has rung some time ago and I thought I'd let you know that Professor Callum is coming this way on his rounds."
"Thanks, Jonesy!" exclaimed Frank. "Much obliged. Scoot fellows!" he said. "No use in getting caught if we can help it. Jonesy is a brick. I'm going to give him a suit I've no use for. I saw him shivering out on the field to-day."
Jones was a lad who was "working his way" through the school by doing some of the necessary monitor work. He was a tall, ungainly lad, who made few friends, but he had taken a liking to the Racer boys, and several times he had warned them of impending visits of the professors. The "crew" quickly dispersed and when Professor Callum, hoping to catch the lads whom he associated with his discomfiture, tiptoed to their room, they were in bed.
"Fooled again" chuckled Andy, as the irate instructor passed on to his own apartment.
"And the doctor hasn't said a word about the basket of chaff yet," added Frank. "I guess he won't."
Busy days followed. The "crew" went out to practice, rowing at every opportunity. The shell sprung another leak, but it was fixed, and now the frail craft, on which the hopes of the school depended, was in fairly good shape.
As yet none of the teachers, or Dr. Doolittle, had taken any interest in the prospective race. I say prospective, for no challenge had yet been sent to Waterside. It is doubtful with the many worries he had whether Dr. Doolittle knew anything about the repairing of the shell. Certainly Mr. Callum did not care one way or the other.
Gradually Frank and his chums improved their form, until one afternoon, following a practice spin, one of the seniors said:
"Say, you fellows are all right. I had a chance to time the Waterside four the other day over a two-mile course, and I just clocked you. You had five minutes the better of them."