“Yes,” was the reply; “and he’ll be coming back soon, to show what the boat can do. Here he comes, Sam,” shouted Henry.
After running out to sea about half a mile, Charlie hauled aft his sheets, set his jib, and brought her on a wind.
“Look there, Hen! See her go right straight to windward! That jib is what takes my eye!”
“How is he going to handle three sails alone, when he tacks, I should like to know?”
“He’s got the jib-sheets to lead aft to where he sits. I’ve often seen that done.”
“I think it’s queer that our Joe, Captain Rhines, and Uncle Isaac, who can do anything they are a mind to, should never have built a boat, but always went about in these dug-outs,—enough to wear a man’s life out to pull ’em.”
“What in the world is he doing now, Hen? He’s hauled down his jib, and taken in his mainsail.”
“He’s going to show what she’ll do under a foresail.”
“Look! He’s putting his helm down! If she’ll go about in this chop of a sea, without help from an oar, under a foresail, she’ll do more than I think she will.”