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Updated: May 29, 2025
With three ear-splitting cheers and a final yell of, "Kr-ee-ee-ee-ee!" the little flotilla got under way. They arrived at the camping ground at the northeast end of the island before noon, and found that the "pioneers" appointed by Rob had done their work well. Each tent was placed securely on a level patch of sandy ground, cleared from brush and stamped flat.
It was evident that it was going to out-distance the record made by Ed Rivers' machine. The Boy Scouts set up their Patrol cry: "Kr-ee-ee-ee-ee!" As the little machine settled to the ground, far beyond the grand stand, the officials ran out with their tapes, and presently the announcement came blaring down the packed ranks of the onlookers: "Three hundred and fifty feet!"
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.
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.
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