It was Mollie who asked this as she stood beside her chum at the wheel
of the Gem. The boat was churning through the water, gradually
creeping up on the craft that had gotten away ahead of her. Behind
came other boats, starting as the crack of the official pistol was
heard.

"Of course we'll win!" exclaimed Betty, as she changed the course
slightly. She wanted to keep it as straight as possible, for well she
knew that the shortest distance between any two points is in a
straight line.

"We wouldn't miss that lovely prize for anything," called Grace from
up forward, where she was helping Amy look after the laboring motor.

A number of prizes had been provided by the regatta committee; the
chief one for this particular race was a handsome cut-glass bowl, that
had been much admired when on exhibition at the club house.

The course was a triangular one of three miles, and now all the craft
that were competing were on the last "leg" of the triangle.

"We're creeping up on her!" whispered Amy, as she directed the
attention of Grace to the boat just ahead of them. It was a light,
open affair, with a two-cylinder motor, but speedy, and two girls in
it seemed to be working desperately over their machinery. Something
seemed to have gone wrong with one of the cylinders, for Betty could
detect a "miss" now and then.

"Yes, we're coming up," admitted Grace, as she skillfully put a little
oil on a cam shaft. "If we can only hold out!"