“Yes, sir,” they both responded, and proceeded to manœuvre their cars into the appointed positions.
Mr. Hollis and Mr. Thompson took their places in the grandstand, part of which the boys had been directed to reserve for them.
By this time the cars were in position, each one with its front wheels resting on the strip of white tape. The “Gray Ghost” had a decided advantage to start with, as it is evident that in any race the car that has the inside position, that is, the part of the track nearest to the center of the field, has a slightly lesser distance to travel than the car on the outside, and in a close race every few feet count.
But now there was a breathless hush over the grandstand, and all eyes were on Mr. Hollis’s hand, holding the pistol aloft. Bert and Ralph were bent over their levers, every muscle tense, and nerves stretched to the breaking point.
Crack! went the pistol. With a mighty roar, and the blue flames spitting from the exhaust ports, the two great machines bounded forward, and almost with one movement Bert changed the gears from first to second, from second to high. At every change the willing car leaped ahead with ever-increasing momentum, and Bert felt a wild thrill run through his body as he realized the vast force beneath him, subject only to his control.
The “Gray Ghost” had made almost as good a start, however, and now, although the “Red Scout” had a slight lead, the inside position began to tell, and the “Gray Ghost” gained a trifle.
Dick, who had been looking back over his shoulder, now turned to Bert and yelled excitedly in his ear, “Sock it to her, Bert! Give her the gas! They’re gaining on us!”
They had now covered the first lap, and the speedometer hand on the “Red Scout’s” dashboard registered a speed of fifty miles an hour. Bert knew he could do better than that, but remembered Mr. Hollis’s instructions not to take any unnecessary chances. The machine was working beautifully, and a wave of pride surged over him as he thought that this was largely due to the care and work he had bestowed upon it.
But now the “Gray Ghost” was ranging alongside—ahead—
“Give her a pump full of oil, Dick,” yelled Bert to his friend, and opened the throttle a trifle wider.