"And they'd be more apt to get a line on what sort of time we were making; isn't that so, Fred?"
"Just what I was going to add, Corney. Now you know about all the reasons Brad has for going down the river to-day, and other days as well."
"And is it true that he's got a three mile course all marked off?" asked Corney.
"Brad says he was down there with Colon on their wheels this morning," Fred went on to say. "They carried a long tape line, and as the road runs close to the bank of the river, they marked every eighth of a mile."
"How did they do it?" questioned the other. "You see I want to be posted, so I can get a pointer on our speed if I happen to look along the bank while we're making a spurt."
"That's the time you'd better keep your eyes glued on the coxswain, and the stroke oar, and not bother trying to find out for yourself what the speed is. Brad will look out for all that, Corney."
"But if you know, you're going to tell me, I hope?" pursued the tireless one.
"Oh!" Fred replied, with a laugh, "if you really want to know, I understand that every eighth of a mile is marked with a single small white rag; each quarter has a blue one; while the mile shows a plain red one. I hope some meddlesome fellow doesn't go to changing the signals on Brad, and make him think he's doing a record stunt. But I believe he's got some other secret sign of his own to depend on besides the flags."
He managed to break away just then; and as Corney saw that it was a very pretty girl who had beckoned Fred over, he made no attempt to question him further. In fact, Fred would have firmly declined to stay, because it was Flo Temple who had signalled.
Flo was the prettiest girl in all Riverport. She and Fred had long been the best of friends. It was he who always took her to singing school in winter, and to the school dances, sometimes given in country barns, where a long sleigh ride was necessary to reach the scene.