"Whit-Monday's not till the seventh o' June. Four clear weeks: an' Boatbuilder Wyatt could knock you up a shell in half that time. He gets cleverer with every boat of the class; and with a boat built to race once only he could make pretty well sure."
Later that afternoon Mr Philp, who never lost an occasion to advertise himself, paid a call on Mr Wyatt, boatbuilder.
"I found a new customer for you this afternoon," he announced, winking mysteriously. "If Cap'n Hunken should call along you'll know what I mean."
On his homeward road the industrious man had a stroke of good luck.
He espied Captain Hocken, and made haste to overtake him.
"Good evenin', Cap'n Cai!"
"Ah—Mr Philp? Good evenin' to 'ee."
"It's like a providence my meetin' you; for as it chances you was the last man in my mind. I happened down to Wyatt's yard just now, and—if you'll believe me—there's reason to believe he'll get an order to-morrow for another 14-footer,"
"Ay? . . . What for?"
"Why, to enter for the cup you're givin' on Whit-Monday."
"You're mistaken," said Cai. "'Tis Mrs Bosenna that's givin' the cup, not I."