THE "FLYING FISH" ON HER METTLE
"Bang!"
With a nervous twitch, Rob threw in the first speed clutch, for the
engine had been kept running on her neutral speed, and was able to take
up way as soon as the propeller began to "bite."
Rapidly the boy increased the speed up to the third "forward," and the
Flying Fish darted through the water like a pickerel after a fat frog.
"Bang!" came behind them once more, as the sound of the cheers which
greeted them as they shot across the line grew faint.
"Crouch low!" shouted Rob back to his crew. "We'll need every inch of
advantage we can get."
The white spray shot in a perfect fountain from the sharp bow of the
Flying Fish, and her every frame and plank quivered under the vibration
of her powerful engine.
"She's doing better than she ever did!" shouted Merritt to Tubby, who
crouched in the center of the boat, ready to take any part in an
emergency.
The other nodded and kept his eyes ahead on the white wake of the other
three craft.
Suddenly the Albacore began to fall back. As the Flying Fish roared by
her, Rob heard a shout of something about "missing fire."
A steady downpour of spray was drenching the occupants of the racer,
but they paid scant heed to it. Rob dived in his pockets and put on a
pair of goggles. The spray was blinding him. He waved to Tubby to go
further astern and keep the rear part of the boat well down when they
made the sharp turn at the red buoy.
In an incredibly short time, it seemed, the turning buoy faced them.
Rob set his wheel over and spun the Flying Fish through the rougher
water at the mouth of the inlet at as sharp an angle as he dared. In a
few seconds more they had passed the Snark and the Bonita, which were
racing bow and bow. The crew of the Flying Fish, though, knew that
both boats had a time allowance over them, so that the mere passing
didn't mean much, unless they could increase the lead.
Faster and faster the boy's craft forged ahead. A thrill shot through
Rob's frame. The Flying Fish was showing what she was made of.
But as he turned his head swiftly he saw that the hydroplane had
rounded the stake and was coming down the straight stretch of water
like an express train. A great wave of water shot out on either side
of her bow. So low in the water had her powerful engines dragged her
that she seemed to be barely on the surface, and yet, as the boys knew,
she was actually "coasting" over the surface.
Try as he would, Rob could not get an ounce more speed out of the
Flying Fish, and as the speedy hydroplane roared by them they heard a
mocking shout from her crew.
Rob, more determined than ever to stick it out, sent the Flying Fish
plunging at top speed through the wash of the speedy craft, hoping to
keep up the distance between them at least equal. But as he saw the
hydroplane gradually drawing away and heard the great roar that went up
from the thrilled spectators as she shot by the club house, his heart
sank.
It looked as if the Plying Fish was beaten. And now the club house
loomed near once more.
"Go on, Plying Fish, go on!"
"You've got a time allowance on her!"
"Push along, Rob!"
"Kr-ee-ee-ee-ee!"
A tumult of other shouts roared in Rob's ears as they tore past the
crowded porch.
"Kr-ee-ee-ee-ee!" screamed back Merritt and Tubby, with waves of the
hand to the brown uniformed figures they could see perched on every
point of vantage.
Suddenly the Flying Fish began to creep up on the hydroplane, which had
slowed down for some reason.
"Hurrah! We've got'em now!" shouted Merritt, as he saw, far ahead,
Jack and the other two occupants of the seeming winner leaning over the
craft's engine, the hood having been raised.
Rob said nothing, but with burning eyes clung to the wheel and shot the
Flying Fish straight ahead on her course.
As they thundered past the hydroplane, the slender craft lay almost
motionless on the water, with a great cloud of blue smoke tumbling out
of her exhausts.
"Looks like they've flooded her cylinder," said Merritt, observing
these signs.
"Kr-ee-ee-ee-ee!"
It was Tubby giving utterance triumphantly to the Eagle scream.
Jack Curtiss straightened up angrily as he heard, his face black and
greasy from his researches into the engine. He shook a menacing fist
at the others as they tore by. The next minute, however, a quick look
back by Rob showed that the hydroplane was coming ahead again, and that
the engine trouble, whatever it was, had been adjusted.
As they neared the turning point, Rob saw, to his dismay, that the
hydroplane was creeping up faster and faster. It was the last lap, and
if Sam Redding's boat passed them at the stake the race was as good as
over.
"Come on, Flying Fish! Come on!" shouted Rob, as the hydroplane crept
ever nearer and nearer to his boat's stern.
Rob noticed, as he swung a trifle wide of the stake raft, that it
seemed to be the intention of Jack Curtiss, who was at the wheel, to
swing the hydroplane round the sharp angle of the course inside of the
Flying Fish. Guessing that this would mean disaster to her ill-advised
occupants, he waved his hand at them to keep out.
"When we need your advice we'll send for it. This is the time we've
got you!" yelled Jack Curtiss, bending low over his wheel, as he grazed
by the Flying Fish's stern to take the inside course.
At the same instant, so quickly that the boys did not even get a mental
picture of it, the hydroplane overturned.
Taking the curve at such a speed and at such a sharp angle had, as Jack
had surmised, proved too much for her stability. Her occupants were
pitched struggling into the water.
"Shall we pick them up?" yelled Merritt.
"No," shouted Rob; "they've all got life belts on. A launch from the
club will get them."
Indeed, as he spoke a launch was seen putting off to the rescue. The
accident had been witnessed from the club, and as the water was warm,
the boys were satisfied that no harm would come to the three from their
immersion.
But the delay almost proved fatal to the Flying Fish's chance of
winning. Close behind her now came creeping up the speedy Albacore.
But a few hundred feet before the finish the Flying Fish darted ahead
once more, and shook off her opponent amid a great roar of yells and
whoops and cheers. An instant later she shot across the line--a winner.
"Bang!" went the gun, in token that the race was finished.
"I congratulate you," said Commodore Wingate, as the boys brought their
craft up to the float. "It was a well-fought race."
And now came the captains of the Albacore, Snark and Bonita.
"You won the race fairly and squarely," said the former, shaking Rob's
hand. "I presume, commodore, the time was taken?"
"It has been," replied that official. "The Flying Fish wins by one
minute and four and seven hundredths seconds."
More cheers greeted this announcement, mingled with laughter and some
sympathy, as the club launch, towing the capsized hydroplane, puffed up
to the float. From the launch emerged three crestfallen figures with
dripping garments. But wet as he was, Jack Curtiss was not going to
surrender the race without a protest.
"A foul! We claim a foul! The Flying Fish fouled us!" he shouted.
"My dear young man," calmly replied the commodore, "I was watching you
every foot of the way through binoculars, and I should rather say that
you fouled the Flying Fish. Anyhow, you should have better sense than
to try to shave round that turn so closely."
More mortified, and angrier than ever, Jack strode off to put on dry
clothes, followed by his equally chagrined companions, who, however,
had sense enough now not to make any protests. They knew well enough
that Jack, in his hurry to grab the prize, had attempted a foolish and
dangerous thing which had cost them the race.
"A great race, a great race," said Mr. Blake, as the boys, followed by
the crowd, entered the club house, where the awards were to be
distributed. "You boys certainly covered yourselves with glory," he
went on.
"Yes, and here is your reward. I hope it will stimulate you to put up
a fine defense for it next year," said Commodore Wingate, handing to
the elated boys a fine engraved silver cup, the trophy of the Hampton
Yacht Club.
"Get up and make a speech!" shouted some one.
The boys felt inclined to run for it.
"Go ahead! Make some sort of a talk," urged Rob, helping Tubby on to
the platform from which the prizes had been handed out.
"Ladies and gentlemen," puffed the stout youth, "we want to thank you
for your congratulations and thank the club for the fine cup.
Er--er--er--we thank you."
And having made what was perhaps quite as good a speech as some of his
elders', Tubby stepped down amid loud and prolonged cheering.
Up in the dressing room Jack and his cronies, changing into other,
garments, heard the sounds of applause.
"It's high time something was done," said Bill, as he gazed from a
window at several of the yacht club attendants bailing out the unlucky
hydroplane. "Those young beggars will be owning the town next."