“Couldn’t be better.”
“Don’t spare the oil, and keep low down. We’re right against the wind now, and everything counts.”
Slowly but surely the Dartaway was overhauling the Snail. Inch by inch she crept up. Now the leading boat was but two lengths ahead. But the last stake was close at hand. Five minutes more and the race would be over. There was a big lead to cut down in a short time.
Jerry shut his teeth tightly. It was if he, himself, was running the race, and was determined to win or die. He gave one look towards the stake-boat and another at Snail, and then shoved the sparking lever over as far as he dared, at the same time giving the cylinders the utmost gasolene they could take without being choked and floated.
It was the last effort, the utter limit to which the Dartaway could be pushed.
The craft responded, as if knowing what was required of her. She seemed to rise like a bird under the increased impulse, and to fairly skim over the water. She darted ahead, and, with hearts that beat high with hope, the boys saw her creep past the stern of the Snail, until the bows of the two boats were once more even.
The stake was three hundred feet ahead. The Dartaway must do an inch or two better if she was to win. Those aboard the Snail were doing their utmost to get another revolution or two from their engine.
Jerry and his companions almost held their breaths. They peered over the side to see what their rivals were doing. They saw them frantically oiling the levers and cams.