"We'd better stop, and pretend we're only fishing," muttered Tom
Reade, but Dick kept grimly silent. He was watching every move
of the Preston paddlers.

"Why, they're leading us four lengths," muttered Darrin, in an
undertone. But Prescott appeared unworried.

"We'll try to brace our speed, by and by," Dick answered.

"And so will the other fellows," Tom surmised. "They're not going
at anything like their pace as yet."

For a quarter of a mile the canoes held the same relative position.

"Now, liven up," Dick called softly. "One, two, three, four!
One, two, three, four!"

Catching the rhythm, Dick & Co. put in some good strokes, their
paddling becoming faster and stronger. A length and a half of
the interval was closed up.

"Porky-poo!" ordered Hartwell.

Answering, the Preston High School boys paddled as though fury
now possessed them. They held the pace, too.

"Hit it up hard, now," Dick commanded. "One, two, three, four!"

Never had Gridley responded more nobly on any field of sport or