"Have you got five thousand that thinks the same way?"
"No, Merton. I quit betting a good many years ago."
The Dart raced up and down the course, showing what she could do in short stretches, but not going over the line for a record. Halloran, the red-haired driver of the Dart, and Ollie Merton were fine-looking young fellows in their white yachting caps, white flannel shirts, and white duck trousers.
From time to time Mr. Lorry consulted his watch, checking off the quarter hours impatiently and wondering why Motor Matt and the Sprite did not put in an appearance. Could it be possible that Matt had not been able to leave the house on Yankee Hill, after all? If he was able to be out, then why didn't he come along and give the Sprite a little warming up?
The boat had not had an actual try-out since the changes had been made in her.
Mr. Lorry did not realize that it was too late, then, for a try-out; nor did he know that Matt was saving himself for the contest, and not intending to reach the course much before the time arrived for the starting gun to be fired.
Five minutes before two a little saluting gun barked sharply from the forward deck of the stake boat.
"I guess your boat isn't coming, Lorry," said Mr. Merton. "There's only five minutes left for——"
The words were taken out of his mouth by a roaring cheer from down the line of boats. The cheer was caught up and repeated from boat to boat until the whole surface of the lake seemed to echo back the frantic yells.
Mr. Lorry leaped to his feet and waved his hat, while Ethel sprang up in her chair and excitedly shook her veil.