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gathering of people at New London occurs but once a year, and the only
event to be compared with it is the annual football game in New York.

New London for a week before the race is filled with "old grads,"
fathers of Yale men who are interested in boating, college lads, mothers
of students, sisters and sweethearts.

At Eastern Point the Fort Griswold House is thronged with persons of
this sort. The Pequod is overflowing. On the broad piazzas old
classmates meet and talk over former victories and defeats. There they
watch the thronging craft upon the river.

Every one talks boating, whether he knows anything about it or not.
"Willie off the yacht" is there, togged in flannels and making a
desperate struggle to roll in his gait. For a week, at least, he is a
waterman, with the salt flavor in everything he says or does.

And the girls--the girls! They, too, dress in flannels and yachting
caps, and they try to talk knowingly about "strokes," "oars" and "the
crew." But they are charming--every one of them!

Yale and Harvard's quarters are on the left bank near Gale's Ferry. Many
of the "old oars" are permitted to visit the crew. The great coachers
are there. They are regarded with awe and respect, for surely they know
everything there is to know about racing!

The race comes off at five in the afternoon. By midday the town is full,
and every train brings fresh throngs of laughing girls and boisterous
students. All are decorated with the blue or the crimson. Flags are
everywhere, and there are horns in abundance.

At the docks the great Sound steamers are moored, and they are packed
with sight-seers. There are numberless yachts on the river, all
decorated with gay colors and thronged with gay parties.

Within the boathouse, preparations were being made for the race.
Collingwood was giving final instructions to his men. Bastow, an old
coach, was surveying each and every one in the most critical manner
possible.

They were handsome fellows, these men of the crew. Their flesh was brown
and firm, and their eyes were bright. They had broad backs and powerful
shoulders.

Collingwood looked troubled. It was evident there was something on his
mind. Fred Flemming, in a new spring suit, is talking with Popkay, the
little cox. Some wonder that Flemming, who had been dropped for
Merriwell, should be there.

Among the spectators on a certain yacht are Tom Thornton and Willis
Paulding. They are watching for the crew to ap