"And so will the other fellows," Tom surmised. "They're not going at anything like their pace as yet."
For a quarter of a mile the canoes held the same relative position.
"Now, liven up," Dick called softly. "One, two, three, four!
One, two, three, four!"
Catching the rhythm, Dick & Co. put in some good strokes, their paddling becoming faster and stronger. A length and a half of the interval was closed up.
"Porky-poo!" ordered Hartwell.
Answering, the Preston High School boys paddled as though fury now possessed them. They held the pace, too.
"Hit it up hard, now," Dick commanded. "One, two, three, four!"
Never had Gridley responded more nobly on any field of sport or other contest than now. The paddles flew, their wet blades gleaming in the air, only to disappear under the water again. Each recovery was swift, prompt rhythmic!
But Hartwell's crew was also showing the stuff of which it was made.
"Stop paddling—-back water!" shouted Hartwell finally.