his coast than you are, and I'd rather
look at the storm from the shore than from the deck of this catboat. So,
here's for a quick scoot for home," he concluded, as he brought the boat
around and laid the course for the shore.

It was a staunch little sailboat of twenty-two feet in length, and the
way she minded her helm, as well as the ease with which she rode the
waves, spoke eloquently of her qualities.

On this afternoon, off the coast of Maine, she held a jolly party of
four boys. Lester Lee, who owned the boat and managed the tiller, was
the host, and his guests were Bill Garwood and Fred and Teddy Rushton,
all of them fellow schoolmates of Lester's at Rally Hall. It was
vacation time, and the boys were gloating over the fact that they were
going to have several weeks more than usual before school opened in the
fall. The news had come in a letter that Fred had received that morning
from Melvin Granger, one of his last year's chums.

"Good for old Mel!" exulted Teddy. "He knew how good we'd feel about it,
and he couldn't get the news to us quickly enough."

"That stroke of lightning knew its business when it struck the right
wing of the building," laughed Fred. "Mel says that several of the rooms
were burned out, and it will be fully a month after the usual time
before everything can be got in running order."

"I'll bet old Hardtack is raving, because he can't get us under his
thumb as soon as he expected," grinned Bill, referring in this
irreverent fashion to Dr. Hardach Rally, head of Rally Hall.

"It's lucky the lightning didn't hit the gymnasium, anyway," commented
Lester. "We'll have some tough teams to tackle this coming year and
we'll need all the practice we can get. Ease her off a little, Fred," he
added, to the older Rushton boy, who was handling the sheet.

Fred did so, just in time to avoid the full force of a big wave that was
coming on the port side. But enough of it came aboard to drench
thoroughly Teddy and Bill, who were lounging at the foot of the mast.

"Wow!" yelled Teddy, as he scrambled to his feet. "That was a corker. I
got a gallon down my back that time."

"Gallon?" echoed Bill. "It seemed to me more like a hogshead. I'm as wet
as a drowned rat."

"Don't you care, fellows," called out Lester. "We won't any of us have a
dry stitch on by the time we get to land."

"You don't suppose there's any danger, do you?" asked Bill, who at his
father's ranch would have been perfectly at hom