The two men could be seen smiling slightly as they glanced across at the craft the boys were in. Jerry settled himself at the wheel, and telling Ned to see to the engine, and keep it well oiled, he prepared for the race, which had been tacitly agreed to.
For a few minutes the two boats were running so nearly alike that, looking from one to the other, both seemed to be standing still. Then slowly, very slowly, the Terror began to creep away. Jerry opened the throttle a trifle, and the Dartaway edged up on her rival.
“They needn’t think they can leave us behind in that way,” spoke Ned. “We haven’t begun to go yet.”
Nor, did it appear, had the Terror, either. From time to time the steersman glanced at the Dartaway, and, as he saw her keeping even with him he speeded up his motor a trifle. But Jerry was not to be outdone, and he did not let the other boat gain an advantage.
“Do you think we can beat him?” asked Andy in a low tone, too impressed by the race to talk at his usual rate.
“It’s a question of engines now,” said Jerry. “Ours is at the limit.”
So, it appeared, was the Terror’s. For some time the two men had been content with merely keeping a straight course, and oiling their motor.
But now, aided either by having gotten into a place where the current was a little swifter, or her motor making a few more explosions a minute, the Dartaway began to forge ahead. At first it was only by the closest observation that it could be seen. But, in a little while, the nose of the boys’ boat was three inches past the Terror’s. Then this increased to ten, to twenty, until, about a mile above Cresville, the Dartaway was a length ahead of her rival.
“We’re beating ’em!” cried Ned in his exultation.
“I think so. We certainly are shooting along,” agreed Jerry.