already," Tom Reade told himself, with a sinking heart. "We were
fools to enter as a school crew without more practice!"

At this time Dick Prescott was the only one in the war canoe who
serenely ignored all doubts. Of course he couldn't be sure that
he would win. In fact, all the chances appeared against him.
But the absurd habit, as it seemed to others, of feeling that
Gridley could not be beaten, was strong upon him.

More than half way to the upper buoy Preston High School led by
more than two lengths.

"Get on, Gridley! Get on! Do something!" came the distant yet
distinct yells from shore. Many spectators, in carriages, or
on bicycles, were following the rival crews.

"Prescott, what ails you?" came a wailing cry from shore.

There were other discouraging calls, too. Had Dick been less
strong in his faith in Dick & Co. he might have gone to pieces
under the nagging.

Bob Hartwell, glancing smilingly back over one shoulder, saw the
Gridley boys working.

"We've got 'em stung, fellows," called the Preston High School
big chief to his crew. "Take it easy, but don't let 'em gain
anything. We won't try to increase the lead until we're on the
last half of the home stretch."