“Or else you are not going far enough,” chimed in another. “If you believe Jarley stole those images–and the boat–why don’t you go about it right? Report it to the county prosecutor and have the man arrested.”
“Or, if Jarley is not guilty,” added another, “I advise him, as a lawyer, to sue you for damages.”
“Let him sue and be hanged to him!” cried Dr. Shelton, who was a great, rough man, twice the size of the boatman, and with all the confidence of his great wealth, as well as his great muscle, behind him. “But he sha’n’t sail in this race.”
“We’ll go back home, Father—Oh, let’s go back!” cried Polly, from the cockpit of the dancing Coquette.
But Wyn Mallory knew that the Jarleys must have hoped to win the twenty-five dollar prize. The Coquette was being mentioned as a possible winner among the knowing ones about the course.
“Dr. Shelton!” she cried, tugging at the angry man’s arm. “Do you mind if Polly and I sail the boat instead?”
“Eh? You–a girl?” grunted the doctor, “Well, why not? I’ve got nothing–as I said before–against his daughter. It’s the man himself who has no business at this end of the lake. I sent him word so a month and more ago. I ought to have him arrested.”
Win thought it would be less cruel to do so, and have the matter thrashed out in the courts. Mr. Jarley was stooping from the wharf, whispering with Polly.
“I can help her,” Wyn cried, turning to the abused boatman. “Let me–do!”
“You are very kind, Miss Mallory,” said Jarley.