en I reckon you know something about quick sailing.
How fast, now, do you calculate a yacht would sail in this breeze?"

"That depends entirely upon the build and model of the craft. If she
were a racing schooner of, say the tonnage of this brig, I daresay her
speed under such circumstances as these would be thirteen or perhaps
fourteen knots; if, however, she were merely a cruising yacht, such as
my own, I do not imagine she would average more than eleven."

"Eleven knots! Jeosh--I say, stranger, how many knots do you reckon we
are making just now?" exclaimed Johnson.

Lance looked over the side for a moment, marked a piece of weed floating
past, and then answered--

"About eight, I should think; certainly not more."

"I guess you're wrong, stranger," returned the pirate skipper with
animation, "she's going ten if she's going an inch."

"You can easily test it by heaving the log," suggested Lance.

"Aft here, two of you, and heave the log," shouted Johnson.

Two men came sauntering aft, at the call; the line and glass were
prepared; and Johnson himself made ready to test the speed of the brig.

"Turn!" he cried to the man who held the glass, as the last of the
"stray" passed out over the taffrail.

The glass was smartly turned; the reel spun rapidly round; the marks
flew through Johnson's fingers, and his countenance brightened with
exultation.

"Stop!"

The sand had all run out; and Johnson grasped the line just before the
eighth knot reached his hand.

"Tarnation! you're right, stranger," he angrily exclaimed. "Waal, I
swan I made sure she was going ten at the very least."

"You skippers very often make that kind of mistake," remarked Lance.
"Or rather, it is not so much a mistake as a self-deception; you would
like your ship to have a speed of ten knots in such weather as this, and
`the wish is father to the thought.' Besides which, having formed an
attachment for your ship, you are naturally anxious to give strangers
also a favourable impression of her."

"That's so, stranger, sure as you're standin' there; you've exactly hit
it I knew the craft wan't doin' over eight at the outside; but the way
you talked about that yacht of yours sorter put my back up, and I 'lowed
I wan't goin' to let you have all the big talk to yourself. About this
yacht of yours, colonel; where is she now?"

"Where I left her, no doubt," answered Lance with a smile; "safe and
sound on the mud of Haslar creek, inside Po