“I was only trying to get him rattled,” protested Andy.
“Well, he got the race just by sticking to it. But go on. I don’t care. I’m going to win, but I don’t want to take an unfair advantage of you.”
“Oh, lobsters! I’m not asking for a handicap. You never can beat me in a thousand years.” And, with a jolly laugh Andy began to sing:
“The stormy winds do blow—do blow,
And I a winning race will row—yo ho!
You’ll come in last,
Your time is past.
Out on the briny deep, deep, deep!
Out on the briny deep!”
“All right, have your way about it,” assented Frank good-naturedly. “I can stand it if you can,” and with that he increased his strokes by several a minute, until his skiff had shot ahead of his brother’s, and was dancing over the waves that, now and then, brilliantly reflected the sun as it came from behind the fast-gathering clouds.