As he mentally measured the distance, now, to the finishing line,
Dick Prescott's eyes flashed.
"Now, your reserve power, fellows!" he called in a low, tense
voice. "Make every stroke count! Full muscle! Never mind your
backs! One, two, three, four!"
A splendid showing Gridley made. Soon the lead of the rivals
was less than two lengths.
"Steam-ho!" called Hartwell. "Hot sail!"
Preston's paddles flashed in the sunlight in unison, in the best,
swiftest stroke they had yet shown. Over on shore the Preston
boosters let their lungs loose in cheering yells.
"Wait for a tugboat, Prescott!"
"You're up against the real thing, Gridley!"
"Come on in, Hartwell! The other canoe is tied to the shore!"
"More steam!" ordered Dick. "More steam! Your best, prize winning
stroke now."
Again Hartwell glanced backward. Now the prow of the war canoe
was less than half a length from the stern of the Preston craft.
Up and up it came. Hartwell, in a burst of energy, shouted his
prize signal:
"Dinky-bat! Hot sail!"
The new spurt carried Preston High School ahead once more.
CHAPTER XXI
NATURE HAS A DISMAL STREAK
"Come on, Prescott!"
"Or else sink!"
"Don't come back to Gridley!"
The cries from shore, as the Gridley boosters noted the effects
of the fine Preston work, were not encouraging.
"Preston High School wins!"
Indeed, it looked as though Hartwell's craft must be the winner.
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