"The fellow whose mind is ruled by an angry passion isn't in the best form for athletic work.
Banish all unpleasant thoughts, all of you fellows." By degrees the big chief from Gridley warmed up his braves in the war canoe.

He had them going in earnest, at nearly their best speed, just as the first gun was fired---a pistol in the hand of the starter on board the judges' boat.
"We'll go over there in our best style," Prescott called.

"Try to give the people on shore something worth looking at---they've waited long enough to see something! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!" In absolute precision the Gridley High School boys moved at their work, their swift, deft, strong strokes sending the birch bark craft darting over the water in a fashion that brought a cheer from shore.
"Deep breathing just as soon as we're at rest at the line," Dick warned his chums.

"At the start try to make the first breath carry you for four strokes!" In a short time the referee had the canoes with their noses at the line, and at an interval from each other satisfactory to him.
"Thirty seconds to the start!" called the time-keeper.

"Twenty seconds!" In the Gridley canoe each boy sat bent slightly forward, his paddle raised at the proper position.
"Ten seconds!" called the starter.