dice--that I was glad to know the feller. Jonadab, he rattled loose
something similar.

"The Cap'n and the Admiral," says Phil, "having sailed the raging
main for lo! these many years, are now favoring me with their advice
concerning the navigation of ice-yachts. Archie, if you're willing to
enter against such a handicap of brains and barnacles, I'll race you on
a beat up to the point yonder, then on the ten mile run afore the wind
to the buoy opposite the Club, and back to the cove by Dillaway's. And
we'll make it a case of wine. Is it a go?"

Archie, he laughed and said it was, and, all at once, the race was on.

Now, Phil had lied when he said we was "favoring" him with advice,
'cause we hadn't said a word; but that beat up to the point wa'n't half
over afore Jonadab and me was dying to tell him a few things. He handled
that boat like a lobster. Archie gained on every tack and come about for
the run a full minute afore us.

And on that run afore the wind 'twas worse than ever. The way Phil
see-sawed that piece of pie back and forth over the river was a sin and
shame. He could have slacked off his mainsail and headed dead for the
buoy, but no, he jiggled around like an old woman crossing the road
ahead of a funeral.

Cap'n Jonadab was on edge. Racing was where he lived, as you might say,
and he fidgeted like he was setting on a pin-cushion. By and by he snaps
out:

"Keep her off! Keep her off afore the wind! Can't you see where you're
going?"

Phil looked at him as if he was a graven image, and all the answer he
made was; "Be calm, Barnacles, be calm!"

But pretty soon I couldn't stand it no longer, and I busts out with:
"Keep her off, Mr. What's-your name! For the Lord's sake, keep her off!
He'll beat the life out of you!"

And all the good that done was for me to get a stare that was colder
than the wind, if such a thing's possible.

But Jonadab got fidgetyer every minute, and when we come out into
the broadest part of the river, within a little ways of the buoy, he
couldn't stand it no longer.

"You're spilling half the wind!" he yells. "Pint' her for the buoy or
else you'll be licked to death! Jibe her so's she gits it full. Jibe
her, you lubber! Don't you know how? Here! let me show you!"

And the next thing I knew he fetched a hop like a frog, shoved Phil out
of the way, grabbed the tiller, and jammed it over.

She jibed--oh, yes, she jibed! If anybody says she didn't you send 'em
to me. I give