The Chelton, now in better trim, skimmed over the bay. Behind her came the Pickerel. And, as Cora looked back she noted that the young man’s craft was slowly overtaking her.
“He has more speed than I thought he had,” she mused.
Foot by foot the young man urged his boat onward. Clearly he was not of that false chivalrous type that permits a lady to win whether she has the ability or not. To a really athletic girl, pitted against a man in an equal contest, nothing is more humiliating than to realize that her opponent is not putting forth all his powers. There are some men who will never try too hard to win from a woman. This stranger was evidently not of that type, and Cora valued him accordingly.
“Can you get up any more speed?” asked Belle, anxiously.
“I’ve got a bit left,” said Cora, as she opened the throttle a little wider. “And I think I’ll need it,” she added.
“He certainly is coming on,” added Belle in a low voice. “Are we getting too near the rocks, Cora?”
“No, it’s safe so far. But I think I’ll go out a bit. I want to win this race.”