Frank was at the helm, and his face wore a serious look. He realized that they were in for a bad run, to say the very least.
And the wind was dead ahead!
Harry showed nervousness. He owned the boat, but it was not that he was thinking about. He remembered the story of the Yale crowd lost on the sound some years before.
“Mink we’ll thake it—I mean think we’ll make it all right, Frank?” he asked, with evident agitation.
“We must,” was all Merriwell answered.
The wind grew stiffer and stiffer. The Jolly Sport floundered considerably, and the spray flew thicker and thicker.
“We’ve got to take in a reef,” cried Merry. “Get ready, all hands. Now—work lively!”
Lively work they made of it, but the catboat shipped a sea before the reefing was over and she was brought into the wind again.
The boys fell to bailing, and away went the Jolly Sport like a racer.
The wind continued to rise, and Frank found Harry’s boat had her faults.