"Say," shouted Fred Jenkins, "are you going to enter the Sprite in the race Saturday?"
"Mebbe."
"Well, it won't be any use; we can run circles round your old tub with this boat."
"She certainly does look fast," replied Jack.
"Fast? She's a streak, and look at her name—that's no lie."
While talking the Jenkins boys had shut down their engine, and the two boats were only about thirty feet apart.
"Well, so long, we'll see you Saturday, if you can manage to keep in sight," taunted Fred, as he threw over the fly wheel of his engine.
The Winner started off at a good speed straight for the canoe. Probably Fred did not intend to run Jack down, but he evidently purposed to come as close as possible without hitting and give him a good scare. But just as he was going to turn to avoid hitting the canoe, something went wrong with the tiller and the next moment Jack was in the water. He could swim like a fish and shaking the water out of his eyes he struck out for the canoe which was floating bottom up a few feet away.
"You clumsy Claudes," he shouted as he caught hold of the canoe. "Isn't the lake big enough for you to turn your old scow in?" Jack was mad clear through, for it had looked to him as though Fred had hit him intentionally. Fortunately, the canoe was so light, that it was not stove in, and he had little trouble in righting it and climbing in. Meanwhile, the Winner had come about.
"Say, Jack, I didn't mean to hit you; my tiller rope stuck and I couldn't turn her," said Fred. "Are you all right?"