“I think that Chet has had a real idea—for once in his life.”
Chet grinned good-naturedly at this chaff of his comrades.
“Well, if it’s a good idea, let’s carry it through.”
Further discussion of the proposal was interrupted just then by the appearance of two large ice-boats racing out of one of the coves almost even with each other.
“A race!” shouted Frank. “Let’s go.”
He maneuvered the boat around and waited until the other boats were abreast, jockeying to get the full benefit of the wind. Then, when all three boats were on a line, they shot forward.
The boys in the other craft waved to the Hardy boys and shouted. On down the bay, over the smooth surface, sped the trio. The lad at the tiller of the biggest boat, over to the left, became excited and his craft swung around broadside. By the time he got around with the wind again his rivals had forged steadily ahead and he saw that it was almost hopeless to attempt to overtake them.
The remaining craft had an advantage over the Hardy boys’ boat in that it had been constructed by a professional builder in Bayport. Its lines were trim and graceful and it had a wider spread of canvas. But the boy at the tiller found that he could not shake off the homemade boat that scudded persistently alongside.
Frank was taking advantage of every changing gust of wind. The breeze was changing and he tacked to starboard, allowing his rival a momentary burst of speed that left the Hardy boys trailing in the rear.
“Too bad!” muttered Chet. “Can’t beat that boat.”