As the brothers were ascending the gangway from the float to the pier, preparatory to going out in their sailing craft, they were hailed by an elderly man, whose grizzled, tanned face gave evidence of many days spent on the water under a hot sun.
“Where you boys bound fer now?” the sailor demanded.
“Oh, we’re just going out for a little sail, Captain Trent,” replied Andy.
“Better not,” was the quick advice.
“Why?” Frank wanted to know.
“It’s coming on to blow, and it’s going to blow hard. Hear that wind?” and the captain, whose son Bob was quite a chum of the Racer boys, inclined his grizzled head toward the quarter whence the breeze came.
“Oh, that’s only a cat’s paw,” declared Andy.
“You’ll find it’ll turn out to be a reg’lar tomcat ’fore you’re through with it,” predicted the old salt. “But what happened to your boat, Andy? I see you’ve got a hole stove in her. Did you run on the rocks?”
“No, something ran into us,” replied Frank quickly. “Don’t say anything to him about the whale,” he remarked to his brother in a low voice.
“What’s that about a sail?” demanded the captain, catching some of Frank’s words.