At the start the weight of the Alton crew told, and their boat
darted to the front, only to be hugged a moment later by Highpoint,
while the Uncas trailed just behind them.
"Easy, boys, easy," cautioned Gerald. "There are three miles of
it, you know."
The three boats were all together. Alton a bit in the lead, but
without any daylight showing between them. The Uncas last, but
still in the race.
"Shure, 'tis foine, ye'r doing," cried Gerald. "Ye have thim all
scared. See how they are running away from ye!"
For the first mile there was no change, Alton still leading, but
the pace was telling, and Highpoint was creeping up--Uncas still
in the rear.
In the next mile there was still no change in the order, and it
looked like Alton's race, but as the second mile was passed Highpoint
poked its nose in front, Uncas still hugging them. "Now, then!"
cried Gerald, as they entered on the last half mile, "hit it up,
boys; we are still in it!"
"The mascot's working overtime," panted Dick, "but he's making
good."
The boys quickened their stroke in response to Gerald's call, and
inch by inch, the Uncas pulled up on their rivals and, just as the
finish was reached, slid across the line a scant six inches in
front.
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