hat needs
attending to on a fisherman, and this time it was our water-tanks. And
while they were being looked after, the Johnnie was overhauled, her
bottom scrubbed and topsides painted. Old Mr. Duncan, we found, was
beginning to take a lot of pride in our vessel and balked at no
expense to have her in trim. And now that the Ripley was lost, he
would have only two vessels to represent him in the big fishermen's
race, which was then only four weeks away.

"Hurry up home now," he said to Maurice as we left the dock that time.
"Hurry up, and give yourself plenty of time to tune her up and get her
in trim for the race. I've set my heart on it. You or the Lucy Foster
must win that race, and whatever else we do we've got to beat
Withrow's vessel, anyway."

And Miss Foster said that one of her guardian's vessels would have to
win the race, and my cousin Nell said that the Johnnie Duncan would
have to win. There was a lot depending on it, she said. It meant a lot
to Will Somers, I suppose Nell meant.

We figured that we had time to make a Cape shore trip, and, with fair
luck, to fill the Johnnie with salt mackerel and be back in time to
get her in good condition for the race, which this year, because it
was anniversary year in Gloucester, promised to be the greatest ever
sailed.

Our plans were somewhat interfered with by a rescue we made. We found
a Glasgow bark, New York bound, in the Bay of Fundy, and her crew in
hard straits. We stood down and after a lot of trouble took them
off--Clancy and Long Steve in the dory. Billie Hurd came near being
the second man in the dory, but Clancy, grabbing him as he had one
foot over the rail, hauled him back with, "Way for your elders, little
man," and jumped in beside Long Steve.

"Elders, but not betters," said Hurd.

"Have it your own way," answered Clancy, "but I go in the dory."

The rescue was really a fine thing, but the important thing was that
some of the rescued men had been exposed to the battering of the sea
so long that they needed medical attention, and so we drove for
home--and cracked our foremast-head doing it. That delayed us almost a
week, for the skipper had to have that spar just so. A lot might
depend on it, same as the rest of the gear. And it was a spar--as fine
a bit of timber, Oregon pine of course, as was ever set up in a
fisherman. And maybe that too was just as well, with the race coming
on.

By the time we were down the Cape shore--down Canso way--