Slowly but surely was the Flash falling behind, or rather the other boat forging ahead. Doubtless Clarence must be trying every device known to ambitious racing skippers in order to just coax a little more speed from his engine; but it was now keyed up to top-notch, and utterly incapable of doing a particle better.
Already Clarence must know that he was badly beaten, unless fortune stepped in to bring about an accident to the Wireless.
“That’s what he’s playing for now,” said George, when his companion suggested this very thing. “But I reckon Clarence will find himself barking up the wrong tree. This race has just got to be mine. You hear me warble, Josh?”
It was not often George spouted slang; but the excitement had seized upon him to such an extent now, that he hardly did know what he was saying.
Minutes crept along.
Now the Flash was a stone’s throw in the rear, and losing all the while.
“Careful about the turn, George,” cautioned Josh, as they came near where the bay opened up. “We don’t want to lose this thing at the last stretch. Now you’re safe to turn in. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! siss! boom! crash! we win!”
The Wireless safely made the turn, and thus Josh announced her victory.
“What did I tell you,” Josh went on. “Look at ’em, George! They’re spinning on right past, and don’t mean to come in at all. Clarence won’t even look this way, but keeps staring ahead. Talk to me about taking a beat to heart, there never was a fellow as bad as Macklin, in baseball, hockey or any sport. Well, good-bye to you, fellows! Come again when you can’t stay so long. It’s Wireless day, you know!”
There was no answer to the shout with which Josh wound up his remarks. He saw Bully Joe wave his hand in a derisive way, and then the Flash passed by at full speed, as though the race were still on.