WHAT AILED GRIDLEY?
"There's an automobile full of Gridley folks coming up to the lake
to-day!" cried Susie Sharp excitedly as she ran to meet her girl
friends at the landing stage.
"How do you know?" asked Laura eagerly.
"Mr. Wright has just received a telephone message, asking that
arrangements be made to give them supper here. They're going
back in the evening."
"Dick will be so pleased!" cried Laura. "All of our boys will
be delighted, I imagine," replied Susie dryly.
"Of course; that is what I meant," explained Laura, flushing slightly.
"I know. You think that Dick Prescott is the only boy at Lake
Pleasant," teased Miss Sharp.
"Stop that!" begged Clara Marshall. "Don't talk nonsense."
At one end of the float lay the "Pathfinder." At the other end
lay the "Scalp-hunter," as shining as a thorough overhauling and
a coating of oil could make her.
Over the latter canoe the Gridley High School girls had posted
themselves as a sort of guard of honor.
Not that there was any suspicion that either of the canoes would
be tampered with. High school and college sports are "clean."
No underhanded tricks are resorted to by competitors for the sake
of winning.
In the boathouse near by sat the members of both crews, mingling
on the most friendly terms. With them were some of the officials
of the race.
Dotted along the water front of the hotel grounds were many little
groups of waiting spectators in chairs, on campstools or sitting
on the grass.
In the morning buoys had been set on the lake at each end of a
measured course. The course was to be a mile, around the upper
buoy and returning to the starting line. The usual rules of boat
and canoe racing were to apply as to clear water, fouling and
the like, as well as the right of way at the upper buoy in case
the rival canoes were close together.
"It's half-past two o'clock now," announced the starter, glancing
at his watch.
"At two-forty," stated the referee, "I shall order both canoes
into the water. As soon after that as each crew captain chooses
he may put his men aboard and take such warming-up work as he
may wish. At two-fifty-six the first gun will be fired, and both
crews must come promptly to the judges' boat for alignment. At
exactly three the second shot will be fired---the starting signal.
Has either captain any questions to ask?"
Neither captain had any questions.
"Let me know, time-keeper, when it is two-forty," said the referee,
going toward the door. "Both captains will be on the alert to
avoid delays."
As the referee glanced out he saw that at least four hundred spectators
were on hand. Two stage loads of men, woman, boys and girls had
already arrived from Preston. Trentville also had sent a delegation.
"What's all that yelling with 'Gridley' in it?" cried Dick, jumping
up and moving toward the door.
He was followed by his chums. They reached the float in time
to see the automobile bus from Gridley coming down to the water
front. In it were some thirty people of all ages.
"Oh, you Prescott!" yelled one irrepressible young man, through
a megaphone. "Don't you dare make fools of us this afternoon!
Gridley must win!"
"Don't worry!" Dick shouted back, waving his hand. "Gridley is
going to win!"
"Yes, sirree!" called Bob Hartwell, laughingly. "Preston High
School guarantees Gridley to be a winner---for second place!"
People now came crowding down upon the float to such an extent
that Mr. Wright had to use the services of four hotel employs
in coaxing them to keep back out of the way of the crews.
"No further admittance to the float, ladies and gentlemen!" called
the hotel manager. "Keep it clear for the use of the crews!"
"Remember, Prescott," shouted a voice, "nothing but a win!"
"That's the Gridley way," Dick called back.
"Crew captains!" shouted the referee. "Ready to launch your craft!
Time for a bit of preliminary practice."
"Take hold and launch!" cried Bob Hartwell, running forward.
Over into the water went the Preston High School canoe with a
splash. The Preston boys began to fill their places.
"Gridley, stand by to launch!" called Prescott, "Slide her in,
easily!"
As graceful as a thing of life the big war canoe slipped into
the water, then lay there like a swan. Dave Darrin took hold
of the bow-line, the pretty craft resting lightly against the
float.
"Aren't you going to take your men out and warm them up, Prescott?"
asked Referee Tyndall.
"No, sir; only for the last five minutes. We want only work enough
to start the blood to moving well."
So only Dave stood by the canoe. Hatless, the Gridley High School
boys paced up and down the float, awaiting word from Big Chief
Prescott before embarking.
"I wish Dick would put our boys to work at once," murmured Belle
uneasily. "Look what a fine showing Bob Hartwell's Preston fellows
are making out there."
In truth the Preston boys were making a splendid showing with
their brisk, steady, sturdy paddling. Many a cheer went up from
shore for them.
"Time for us, Gridley," announced Prescott, when some minutes
had passed.
Alertly his chums sprang to their posts. In a twinkling they
were seated, each with his paddle in hand, holding lightly to
the float.
"Shove off," said Dick, in a very low voice. As the "Scalp-hunter"
started for the middle of the lake a wild Gridley yell broke loose.
But none of the boys paid heed. Each had his ears alert only
for the orders of the captain.
Somehow, as the canoe moved out, each one had the same feeling.
The "Scalp-hunter" was not moving quite as it should do.
"There is at least one of you fellows who isn't doing all he should,
or just as he should," Dick murmured quietly. "Which one is it?"
There was no immediate response, though all five of the boys gave
renewed attention to their work. Still, all of them had the same
uneasy impression that there "was a screw loose somewhere."
"It's just as though we had a drag holding us back," Dick muttered
disappointedly.
"Perhaps it's only because we're not quite warmed up yet," Tom
hinted.
"No; it isn't that," Prescott responded. "I wish I knew just
what does ail us. Take the second speed, fellows, and each of
you watch his dip and recovery. Remember, it's the disciplined
paddling that wins a canoe race."
At the next speed they went forward a little faster, to be sure.
Yet there was a decided lack of speed or a pull-back somewhere.
"Don't lose your nerve, Gridley!" floated Hartwell's voice over
the water as the Preston canoe shot by at a wind-jamming speed.
"Want a tow, Gridley?" hailed someone from shore.
"Next speed, fellows! Hit it up hard," called Dick Prescott.
Perspiration from extreme nervousness broke out on his forehead.
Strive as he would, the crew captain of the Gridleys could not
shake off the gloomy depression that assailed him. Something
was wrong---radically wrong! The "Scalp-hunter" was not showing
a winning gait!
"Best speed---and work, fellows!" called Dick, as quietly as ever,
though in his voice there was a note almost of despair.
Now, indeed, the Gridley craft sped through the water. Yet all
of her crew, and many people on shore, realized that the war canoe
was not showing a prize-taking gait.
How Dick, Dave, Tom and the others worked, bending all their energies
to the task! Yet all felt the same awful doubts.
Bang! The first gun had sounded.
"Down to the line, fellows!" Dick called. "Put in all the steam
you can. I was wrong not to have warmed you up before. Get your
blood to moving. One, two, three, four! Hump it! Hump it!"
Their bodies streaming with perspiration, breath coming fast,
their faces deeply flushed, Dick & Co. bent to their paddling.
They were moving fast, yet not as fast as they should be moving
and back.
"What on earth can ail our boys?" cried Laura Bentley anxiously
as she watched.
"They're moving fast," replied Clara Marshall.
"Yet not the way they should move," Laura insisted. "There's
nothing about them of the easy, brisk form that Preston High School
shows to-day."
"Don't hint at defeat!" shuddered Belle Meade. "We might be able
to stand a Gridley defeat, but the boys couldn't."
Preston's canoe now rested on the water, ready to be aligned at
the referee's order. Gridley's craft seemed to be straining as
she neared the line.
Suddenly three sharp, short, shrill blasts sounded from the whistle
of the judges' launch.
"Prescott!" roared the referee.
"Now, what's up, I wonder?" Dick asked himself, with another
sinking feeling at heart.
The judges' boat was making fast time toward the Gridley High
School entry.