“But it’s a lighter boat than ours,” returned Cora, who was not willing to give nor take an unfair advantage. “And we have five passengers.”
“I’ve thought of that,” the young man went on. “I’m willing to accept a handicap. I’ll drop back about five hundred feet and allow you that much.”
“That would be fair,” assented Cora, who, from having taken part in various races knew what would be about right.
“Then here goes!” cried the stranger, as he throttled down his motor. “I’ll give you a hail when I’m coming on.”
The Chelton at once began drawing away from the Pickerel, which was the name of the stranger’s boat.
This craft, it seemed, had a clutch arrangement, so that the motor could be allowed to run without the propeller revolving. Cora’s boat was likewise equipped.
“Are you going to beat him?” asked Lottie, as she moved back where no drop of spray could spot her blue dress.
“I am certainly going to try,” said Cora with a smile. “What does a race amount to if you don’t try to win?”
“Oh, of course, but then I thought this was only in fun.”
“It’s a race for keeps,” announced Cora. “And I think we’ll win. That last gasoline we got is the best we ever had. It gives us more power, and the Chelton is running like a sewing machine, as Jack says. I think we’re going to win!”