“The only boat I’m afraid of is the Snail,” said Ned. “She’s just the opposite to her name, and the other day she went way ahead of us.”
“Our engine wasn’t sparking good that time,” Jerry remarked.
The race was a handicap one,—that is the boats were graded according to the size of their cylinders and the horse-power of the engines. This grading made the Dartaway and Snail take fourth place. Three other boats started off ten seconds ahead of them, and two large boats ten seconds after them.
The cove was dotted with craft the afternoon of the race. It was hard to keep them clear of the course, but by dint of circling around it several times Captain Jenkinson was able to make the owners of other boats understand he meant business.
At the crack of a revolver the three first boats started off, the explosions of their engines, from which the mufflers had been taken, sounding like a battery of Gatling guns in full action.
The three boys nervously awaited the signal that was to send them off. Jerry kept watch of those aboard the Snail, which contained three youths.
Crack! went the pistol, and Jerry threw in the first speed clutch, for, as in the case of the other boats, the engine had been kept running, though not in gear.
The Dartaway jumped ahead like a hungry fish after a small frog. Likewise did the Snail, and, with the engines working almost at full speed the two rival craft surged through the water.
Side by side they kept. Jerry threw in second gear and the captain of the Snail did likewise. Jerry decided to run on that for a while, and trust to the power of the motor, which Ned and Bob were looking after.