Halfway between the stake boats the Dart began to draw ahead. A shout of exultation went up from Merton.
"Good boy, Halloran! In another minute we'll show him our heels."
But what Matt lost on the outward stretch of the course he more than made up at the turn around the stake boat. The shorter length of the Sprite enabled her to be brought around with more facility, and she came to on the inner side and was reaching for the home-stretch when the Dart got pointed for the straight-away.
The hum of the engine was like a crooning song of victory in Matt's ears. He knew he was going to win; he felt it in his bones.
Halloran's juggling with gasoline and spark brought the Dart slowly alongside and gave her the lead by half a length.
But still Matt did not waver. He could juggle a little with the make-and-break ignition and the fuel supply himself. His brain was full of calculations. He knew where he was at every minute of the race, and he knew just when to begin making the throbbing motor spin the wheel at its maximum.
The rack of the hull was tremendous. It seemed to grow instead of to lessen.
Would the hull stand the strain with the engine urging the wheel at its best?
It must stand the strain! The crisis was at hand and there was nothing else for it.
Hugging the steering wheel with his body, Matt's left hand toyed with switch and lever. The yacht at the finish line was in plain view.