"Of course not. A steady load and steady plugging in the water is a whole lot different from the give-and-take a motor gets in an auto; but we can keep up the eighteen hundred revolutions for ten minutes, anyhow—and the race only covers five miles. I'm fixing the Sprite to win the race, that's all."
"By George!" exclaimed Lorry, "it takes you to make a fellow feel good, Matt! You know what you're doing, every time and all the time. Go ahead with the work, and bank on me to hold you up with both hands."
"Me, too, pard!" added McGlory.
"What we're doing," said Matt, "we want to keep strictly to ourselves. Merton has our drawings, and probably thinks he knows just what we're about. Let him think so. If he springs a 'dark horse' on us, we'll get even by springing one on him."
"But can you get the Sprite ready in time?" asked Lorry anxiously.
"Sure I can! I'll have to begin at once, though, and some of us will have to stay in this boathouse night and day to make sure that none of the Winnequas come prowling around. If you'll stay here with McGlory, George, I'll borrow your motor cycle to go over to the machine shop and dicker for that second-hand engine."
"Go on," said Lorry. "While you're there you might get a man to help you."
Matt got up and pulled the motor cycle away from the bench.
"I'll be back in an hour, fellows," said he.
Leaving the boathouse, he dragged the wheel to the top of the steep bank, then, getting into the saddle, he gave the pedals a turn and was off like a shot along the wooded road that led past the insane asylum and by the Waunakee Road and Sherman Avenue into town.