The race had been spoken of so much that Lakeview presented a holiday appearance.

All those who could, crossed over from Rockpoint, and many came from other places.

The lake was crowded with craft of all sorts, and even standing room along the shore was at a premium.

Even Farmer Upton grew interested.

“You must win that race, son,” he said. “Not only for your own sake, but for the sake of the whole Lakeview district.”

And this made Jerry more determined to win than ever.

The race was not to come off until three o’clock in the afternoon. In the meanwhile there were half a dozen other contests, in which, however, the masses took but small interest.

While one of these contests was going on, and Jerry was in the dressing room of the boathouse putting on his rowing rig, Harry came in excitedly.

“Jerry, you want to be on your guard,” he said in a low tone, so that those standing about might not hear.

“On guard? How?”

“Against Si Peters.”

“I don’t understand.”

“From what I have overheard, I imagine there is a plot on foot to make you lose the race.”

“What sort of a plot?”

“I can’t say.”

The young oarsman gazed at his chum in perplexity.

“What have you heard? I don’t know what to make of this.”

“You know Wash Crosby?”

“Yes. He is Si Peters’ toady.”

“Well, I heard him tell Browling that it was a dead sure thing Si would win.”

“That might have been mere blowing.”

“No. Browling thought so, too, but then Crosby whispered in his ear. At once Browling’s face took on a look of cunning.

“‘Can you do it?’ he asked, and Crosby said he could.

“Then Browling said he would put out his money on Si, if he could find anyone to bet. You know the whole crowd is rich.”

“Yes, and I know another thing!” exclaimed Jerry suddenly. “I fancy I can see through their plan.”

“What?”

“Crosby owns a steam launch, you know.”

“I do.”

“What is to prevent him from running the launch so that I shall get all the swash? It would make me lose a quarter minute or more, and perhaps upset me.”

“Jiminey crickets! I believe you are right!” whispered Harry.

“Did they mention the steam launch?”

“They did. Browling said he would go and take a look at her.”

“Then that is what the plot is, you may be sure of it. You ought to be able to stop them, Harry. You are going to be on your uncle’s naptha launch.”

“I will! If they get too close to you I’ll boathook them and pull them off!” cried Harry.

“Good for you.”

“But beware, Jerry, the plot may not be that after all.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” replied the young oarsman.

A minute after this Harry went off.

Then Jerry, having donned his rowing outfit, was surrounded by the other members of the club. His shell was inspected and found in perfect condition. It had been guarded carefully, and now the club members did not dare to let their eyes off of it.

“Bring me my blades, please,” said Jerry, and they were at once brought from the locker.

He began to examine them from end to end. Suddenly he uttered a cry.

“Boys, look here!”

“What’s up, Jerry?”

“This one has been strained and cracked. An extra hard pull on it, and it would give out.”

A murmur arose.

“Who did this?”

“Some enemy wants Jerry to lose, sure!”

How the blade had got into that condition was a mystery.

But now was no time to speculate on the affair. A new set of blades must be procured at once.

Luckily there was a pair belonging to a private party to be had. They were just the same size and weight.

“I would rather have my own, but I’ll make these do, and beat them in spite of all,” said Jerry.

At a given signal six of the boat club boys marched down the float carrying Jerry’s shell, which had been polished and oiled until it shone like a mirror.

With a faint splash the shell dropped into the water. Then Jerry ran down and stepped in. His feet were “locked,” and the oars were handed over.

“Hurrah for Jerry Upton!”

“He’s the boy to win!”

“Hurrah for Si Peters!”

“Jerry won’t be in it with Si!”

“He will!”

“Never!”

And so the talking and the shouting ran on.

Meanwhile Si Peters had emerged from the landing at a private boathouse some distance up the lake shore.

He received a hearty shout as he moved slowly over to the starting point.

Si Peters won the choice of positions, and, of course, took the inside.

The race should have been a mile straightway, but the original challenge which led to the race had been for a half mile going and the same coming.

Soon the two boys were in position.

“Ready?”

There was a dead silence.

Bang!

They were off! Both boys caught the water at the same instant. Each pulled a long but quick stroke. Ten yards were covered, and they remained side by side.

“Pull, Si!”

“Go it, Jerry!”

Like two clocks, so far as regularity went, the two contestants bent their backs and pulled with might and main.

One thing was certain, unless something happened, it would be a close race.

But now the Lakeview boys were getting wild.

“See Jerry! He is gaining.”

“Jerry is five feet and more in the lead!”

It was true. Slowly but surely our hero was forging ahead. Should he be able to keep this up he would cross Si Peters’ course at the turning point.

But now Wash Crosby showed his hand. Without so much as a toot of the whistle, his steam launch kept drawing closer and closer to Jerry’s side.

Then it gradually went ahead, until Jerry was caught in the swash of the tiny waves it produced.

Under ordinary circumstances these waves would not have been noticed, but in a shell, and especially during a race, even such apparent trifles count heavily.

“Keep off!” shouted the young oarsman.

“Mind your business!” shouted Wash Crosby in return, but so lowly that no one but Jerry could hear him. “This is Si Peters’ race!”