For the Sprite was coming!
Motor Matt, a little pale and carrying his right arm in a sling, came jogging down the wide lane toward the stake boat. There was a resolute light in his keen, gray eyes, and his trained left hand performed its many duties unerringly.
The danger from which Matt had plucked the Sprite at the burning boathouse was known far and wide, and it was his gameness in entering the race handicapped as he was that called forth the tremendous ovation.
Dexterously he passed the stake boat and brought the Sprite slowly around for the start.
The Sprite was charred and blistered, and, as McGlory had humorously put it, the "skin was barked all off her nose," because of her collision with the water door; but there she was, fit and ready for the race of her life.
She did not compare favorably with the handsome Dart; but then, beauty is only skin deep. It's what's inside of a boat, as well as of a man, that counts.
Slowly the boats manœuvred, waiting for the gun. The silence was intense, breathless. Then——
Bang!
The little saluting gun puffed out its vapory breath. Matt could be seen leaning against the wheel, holding it firm with his body while his left hand played over the levers.
It was a pretty start. Both the Sprite and the Dart passed the stake boat neck and neck.