s fine
fish as ever I see bailed over the rail. And some of you ready
reck'ners ought to easily figure up what'll be coming to us if we ever
fill her up--say five hundred barrels. A good thing--a few hundred
barrels of mackerel. A few too many of 'em for good trim, but it's
comforting to know they're there. She seemed to be in pretty nice trim
when we tried out one or two of the fleet this morning, didn't she?
And to-night, if it breezes up--and it looks now as if it will--we'll
get some more--if it's a night like last night. One time there last
night--did you notice her, cook?--that time that crazy lad started to
cross our bow and we luffed her. Why, man, she shot over like I don't
know what--just shot like one of those torpedo boats we see around
when the Navy goes evoluting. I was near shook overboard from aloft.
They tell me they're going crazy over the race in Gloucester. Well,
here's one that'll bet his summer's earnings----"

"What's left of it, you mean, Tommie," said George Moore from his pan
of dough.

"Well, yes, what's left of it--and what I c'n borrow. Old man
Duncan'll stake me, and there's others. I hope, though, it blows a
jeesly gale. For this one, God bless her, she c'n sail, and some of
them'll find it out--when it's too late, maybe. Sam Hollis for one.
There's a man I'd give my eye almost, to beat. And maybe the
skipper hasn't got it in for him! He doesn't say much, Maurice
don't, but a while ago, after coming down from aloft, Billie Simms
hails him and tells him that the cutter people know all about that
little school to-day--and who told him, who told him? Well, the
skipper'll drive this one to the bottom before he ever lets Sam
Hollis or any of Withrow's vessels get by him when we race. Yes, sir.
But, Georgie-boy"--Clancy shouldered away from the foremast--"how
is it for a wedge or two of one of those blueberry pies you got
cooling there? Just a little wedge, now. But you don't need to be
too close-hauled with your knife--no. Sailing by the wind is all
right when you're jogging in and out among the fleet, and nothing
partic'lar doing except an eye out for mackerel, but you want to
give her a full always--always, Georgie--when you're cutting pie.
There's the lad--straight across the beam. And now at right angles
again. And now lay one atop of the other, and you have it--an
invention of my own--a blueberry sandwich. M-m--but look at the
juice squish through her scuppers!" He held it up for all of