reeze.

Hollis had all the best of it. He was bound to, with the Duncan
carrying most of her mackerel aft and away down by the stern. Even had
we had time to--we did shift some of it forward--we were too deep for
any kind of racing in that moderate breeze. We said that to ourselves,
anyway, and yet we held on. But it was no use--it wound up by Hollis
giving us a scandalous beating. And after running away from us he kept
straight on to the westward, and by that we knew that he was bound for
Gloucester to get ready for the big race.

The skipper felt it. He was one that took things to heart.

"I've been bragging about this one--what she could do. I told the old
man only the last time we were in that he could go broke that I'd beat
Sam Hollis, and here the first time we come together he makes her look
like a wood-carrier. The best thing I can do, I guess, is to keep out
of the race; maybe it will save the old man some money. I expected
he'd beat us, the trim we were in--but to beat us the way he did!"

Nothing the crew could say seemed to make him think otherwise, and
that night it was not nearly so joyful below in the Johnnie Duncan.
The talk was that she would not go home for the race. Only Clancy
seemed to be as cheerful as ever. "Don't any of you get to worrying,"
he said. "I know the skipper--the Johnnie Duncan'll be there when the
time comes."

Yet next morning when Wesley Marrs went by us with the Lucy Foster
bound for home and sang out, "Come along, Maurice, and get ready for
the race--we'll have a brush on the way," our skipper only waved his
hand and said, "No--this old plug can't sail." Wesley looked mighty
puzzled at that, but kept on his way.

XXV

TROUBLE WITH THE DOMINION CUTTERS

Next day after, in a calm, Clancy and I had to take the dory and row
out among the fleet for some salt. The skipper thought it likely that
some of the vessels that were going home might have salt to spare. He
doubted if he himself would have enough in case we struck another good
school. So we rowed out. We went from one vessel to another without
any luck, until we found ourselves aboard Tom O'Donnell--the Colleen
Bawn. And just as we got aboard a school showed near by her, and they
made a dash for it. The Colleen was pretty well inshore then, and yet
safe outside the three-mile limit in our judgment. Even in the
judgment of one of the Canadian revenue cutters, the Mink, she was
outside the limit. "You're all right