Four Afloat: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Water. Barbour Ralph Henry

and paid their measurement fees, and stood away to await the starting signal.

      “Let’s follow them a bit,” suggested Tom. “It would be great sport, wouldn’t it?”

      “Great!” cried Dan. “Let’s do it, Nel! What do you say?”

      “I’m game if you are,” was the answer. “You want to remember, though, Tommy, that we’ll be late to dinner.”

      “Oh, you run away and play! To hear you fellows talk, you’d think nobody ate anything but me. I’d just like to know who got away with the most of the lunch – and I’m not looking at Bob, either!”

      “‘Not you, kittie, nor me, kittie, but one of us,’” murmured Nelson.

      “What time will we get back?” asked Bob.

      “Depends on how far we go,” said Nelson. “We’d ought to get back before dark, I suppose.”

      “Oh, it doesn’t get dark until late,” said Dan cheerfully.

      “I tell you what we’ll do,” cried Tom. “I’ll cook something and we’ll have dinner on board! What do you say?”

      “Well, we’ve never eaten one of your dinners, Tommy,” answered Dan, “and so we may, I think, be excused if we say nothing; least said soonest mended, you know.”

      “Have we got anything to cook, Tommy?” asked Nelson doubtfully.

      “Eggs, bacon, beans, tomatoes, potatoes, jam, bread – ”

      Boom!

      “First gun!” cried Bob.

      “There’s a quarter of an hour yet, then,” said Dan.

      “Let’s get our lanterns lighted,” suggested Nelson. “We might as well do it now as later. The others are lighting theirs.”

      So for the next few minutes they attended to the lights, saw to the lashings of the tender, filled oil cups, and prepared to join in the scramble across the starting line. At six-twenty a second gun was fired from the committee boat, and at six-twenty-five a third. By that time all the contestants were chugging and churning into positions from which they could make quick starts. Everyone had his eyes glued to watch or clock, and as the minutes passed the excitement grew intense. The crew of the Vagabond felt as though they, too, were off for a wild race to New York, and Dan was for rounding outside the committee boat so that they wouldn’t get left. But Nelson shook his head.

      “We’ll stay here and get over the line after the last one. Then we’ll see if we can’t give some of them a tussle for a few miles.”

      “Hey! Look at the Amy!” cried Bob.

      All boats were in motion now, and were dashing toward the open water between the committee boat and the black spar. The Amy had started a bit too soon, and now, having almost reached the line, she turned and ran parallel with it until, when almost at the end of it and it seemed as though she must head back again, the last gun went off, and with a quick turn of her wheel she swung her nose to port and dashed across the line several lengths in the lead. Then the others went over, their propellers churning the water, flags flying, and exhausts throbbing loudly. Whistles blew and sirens shrieked, caps were waved and flags were dipped, and the twelve plucky little boats headed for the blue-gray rim of the horizon on their all-night voyage.

      “All right!” sang Bob from the wheel, and Nelson, hand on the lever, shot it forward and the Vagabond started after the other craft with a rush that took her across the line the first of the noncontestants. In their endeavor to cut the corner as much as possible, several of the launches got too near the Point, and for a moment it looked as though the race was already over for some of them. But after a breathless minute all got safely away and passed out between the Point and Marblehead Rock. The sun was nearing the hills in the west and a crimson flush lay over the quiet sea and dyed the sails of the yachts. Back of them the whistles still tooted as the crew of the Vagabond stood in the cockpit and watched the contest with breathless interest.

      The Point fell farther and farther away and grew indistinct in the sunlit haze. The racers had formed into two broken lines, the Amy still holding the lead, with the Scrapper and the Gnome striving to nose her out of it. Suddenly the sun went down, throwing a last intense ray across the water, and the blue twilight descended. The lantern at the top of the lighthouse on Baker’s Island bade good night to the speeding boats, and wished them safe voyage. The whistling had long since ceased, and nothing was to be heard now aboard the Vagabond but the chugging of the boats ahead and an occasional hail from some one of the following craft. The Vagabond was by no means the only boat in pursuit. Launches little and big were trying to keep up in order to get a last view of the contest. But one by one they dropped astern, turned and headed homeward. The twilight deepened, but the boys on the Vagabond paid little heed, for they had passed two of the racers, and were gaining on a third.

      “Say, maybe we’re not going some!” cried Tom delightedly.

      “Twelve miles and over,” answered Nelson with satisfaction.

      “Bet you we’ll pass that one there inside of five minutes,” crowed Tom. “Gee! I wish we were in the race!”

      “Looks as though we were,” said Bob with a smile. “There’s the Sue ahead there. She’s going along in great shape, isn’t she? If she wasn’t so small, I’d be willing to bet she’d win out.”

      “Wouldn’t be surprised,” answered Nelson. “She’s got a whole lot of handicap allowance to help. And even if she is small, she’s certainly keeping her end up with some of the others. How about that dinner you were going to cook, Tommy?”

      “Just wait till we pass the next one,” begged Tom excitedly. “I love to see the way the fellows look at us when we go by.”

      “They’re probably wondering what we’re butting in for,” said Nelson laughingly. “I’d rather like to know myself!”

      “Just to show them what a real boat looks like,” suggested Bob. “Could we keep up this pace all the way?”

      Nelson shook his head.

      “Maybe, but I wouldn’t like to try. We’d probably overheat something, and get in a fix. No; if we were going clear through with the bunch, I’d stop her down to about eight or nine miles and see what would happen.”

      “Let’s do it!” cried Dan.

      The others looked expectantly at Nelson. He shook his head again.

      “It wouldn’t be safe, fellows,” he answered. “It’s all right now, but we might meet a whole lot of nasty water outside the Cape.”

      “What Cape?” asked Tom.

      “Cape Cod.”

      “Oh! do we have to go by there?” he asked in surprise. Whereupon there was a laugh at Tom’s knowledge of geography.

      They were pulling abreast of the next launch now, and her red side-light shone brightly through the gathering dusk.

      “Now, Tommy, you can start your fire,” said Dan. “We’re up to them and passing. Hello! that chap’s going to hail us.”

      “Hello, the launch!” came a voice through a megaphone.

      Nelson picked up his own megaphone and answered the hail.

      “Are you in this?” was the demand.

      “No; we’re just following!”

      “Oh! Are you going back to Marblehead tonight?”

      “Don’t think so,” answered Nelson. “We’ll probably try for Boston.”

      “I see! Much obliged! Goodnight!”

      “Good night,” called Nelson, “and good luck!”

      The other nodded and laid aside his megaphone. Then the Vagabond went ahead. It was too dark to read the name of the other boat, although Dan said he thought she was the Sizz.

      “Did