“Poor fellows!” said Betty as they rowed off. “I’d give two dollars of my own now if we could find their canoe for them. They must be dreadfully disappointed. Well, shall we start?” “Yes, let’s get it over with,” replied Grace, nervously. Grace and Amy were selected to look after the motor, they having been “coached” by Uncle Amos for several days. They were to see that it did not lack for oil, and if anything got out of adjustment they could fix it. They would be stationed well forward in the cabin, and the bulkhead being removed, they could easily get at the machinery. Betty and Mollie would be at the wheel. Aunt Kate declined to take part in the race, and Uncle Amos was not eligible under the rules, this being strictly a race for girls and women. Several events were run off before the Class B race was called. Then the boats, including the _Gem_, moved up, and were formally inspected to make sure that all the rules and regulations had been complied with. No fault was found. “Are you all ready?” asked the starter. “Ready,” was the answer, and the first boat shot away. It was nervous waiting for Betty and her chums—those four minutes—but they finally passed. “Ready?” asked the starter again. “Ready,” answered Betty, her voice trembling in spite of herself. There was a sharp crack of the pistol, and the _Gem_ shot ahead, as Betty let the clutch slip into place. The race was on! CHAPTER XVI FIGHTING FIRE “Betty, do you think we can win?” 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!” “Oh, trust Betty for that.”