ay of
thinking there was not another boat in the fleet in the same class with
the "Long Island's" racing gig. Half a dozen men were instantly told
off to rub the boat down under the watchful eyes of Joe Harper. All
the rest of the afternoon they busied themselves about the gig, until,
at last, the command was given, "Get ready for practice spin."

The members of the racing crew hurried to their quarters, and, at four
o'clock sharp, appeared on deck, clad only in short trunks and shoes.
Each man carried an oar, which he stood butt down on the deck in front
of him.

The officers ran their eyes over the twelve muscular young men. The
glances of all finally dwelt on Dan Davis and Sam Hickey and murmurs of
surprise ran over the assemblage. Sam's arms were knotted with
muscles, as were his back and legs. But it was Seaman Davis who, of
the twelve, attracted the most attention.

Dan's muscles were not bunched like those of his companion; they were
rounded in beautiful curves, symmetrical like those of a well-groomed
race horse.

"No wonder Dynamite put a cauliflower ear on old Kester," laughed a
shipmate.

"He's in wonderful condition," confided the captain to one of his
officers. "That boy is a born athlete."

The gig was swinging over the side in a sling, being lowered by a big
crane.

"Stand by," commanded the boatswain's mate, who was the coxswain of the
gig.

The crew of the gig lined up at the rail.

"All over!"

They piled down the sea ladder, taking their places in the small boat.

"Toss!" The oars were raised upright. "Out oars!"

The oars were placed in the rowlocks.

"Cast off!"

The gig was shoved clear of the ship.

"Give way together!"

Eleven lusty sailors put their strength into the oars and the racing
gig shot away from the side of the battleship, sending up a shower of
white spray as it plunged into a rising swell.

CHAPTER XXI

IN THE RACING GIG

Sam Hickey had been given the place nearest to the coxswain, with Dan
just behind him. Some of the others were inclined to grumble at that,
for Sam was next to the stroke oar, a position of honor.

Joe Harper, however, had his own ideas. He wanted the Battleship Boys
near him, so that he might watch their work more closely.

"A little quicker on the recovery, there, Hickey. That's better.
Davis, you're doing well. You pull like an old-timer. Number one,
there, you're lagging. Swing your body from the hips and come fo