They had begun upon the last mile. The crew of the Butterfly were as confident of winning the race as though the laurel of victory had already been awarded to them; and though their backs ached and their arms were nearly numb, a smile of triumph rested on their faces.
"Now for the tug of war," said Frank, in a low, subdued tone, loud enough to be heard by all his crew, but so gentle as not to create any of that dangerous excitement which is sometimes the ruin of the best laid plans.
As he spoke the motions of his body became a little quicker, and gradually increased in rapidity till the stroke was as quick as was consistent with perfect precision. The result of this greater expenditure of power was instantly observed, and at the end of the next quarter of a mile the boats were side by side again.
"They are beating us!" said Tony, in a whisper. "Dip a little deeper—pull strong!"
The exciting moment of the race had come. The spectators on the shore gazed with breathless interest upon the spectacle, unable, though "Zephyr stock was up," to determine the result.
Not a muscle in Frank's face moved, and steadily and anxiously his crew watched and followed his movements.
"Steady!" said he, in his low, impressive tone, as he quickened a trifle more the stroke of the crew.
The Butterflies were "used up," incapable of making that vigorous effort which might have carried them in ahead of the Zephyr.
"A little deeper," continued Frank. "Now for it!"
As he spoke, with a sudden flash of energy he drove his oarsmen to their utmost speed and strength, and the Zephyr shot by the judges' boat full a length and a half ahead of the Butterfly.