Meanwhile, Templeton, knowing that his petrol would barely last out, had slowed down.
"Tell me if they draw up with us," he called over his shoulder.
"I will, begor," said the Irishman. "She's after doing that same now, and smoking like a tug on the Liffey."
"He's driving her hard," added Eves.
"That's all right," said Templeton. "It's my turn now."
A bend in the road brought the wind only a few points on the port bow, and Templeton, sparing his petrol, allowed the yacht to lose way. The green car, hooting angrily, and leaving a huge trail of smoke, rattled on at a great pace, and moment by moment lessened the distance between it and the yacht. But Eves and Templeton between them, by their dexterous handling of steering wheel and sail, succeeded where the others had failed. The road was effectively blocked; short of running the yacht down, with the risk of heavy casualties on both sides, as Eves remarked, Noakes and his friend had no means of preventing their Irish competitor from maintaining his lead and coming first to the winning post.
For a full mile the yacht zigzagged from one side of the road to the other. Eves handled the sheet very smartly, but soon found it hopeless to attempt to cope at once with the gustiness of the wind and the sudden swerves of the yacht, and finally contented himself with letting the boom swing freely within a narrow circle, fearing every moment that a lurch would capsize them all. Another turn in the road again gave them the wind; the yacht darted forward on a straight course, and the Irishman reported in high glee that the green car, grunting like Patsy O'Halloran's pig and snorting like Mike Grady's bull, was dropping behind as fast as she could run.
"What's the time?" Templeton called suddenly over his shoulder.
"Nine minutes to the hour," replied the Irishman, consulting his watch. "Will we do it?"
Now that the exciting part of the race was apparently over, he had become alive to business. Twelve o'clock was the hour named for the lodging of tenders with the camp commandant; "and with the likes of the Army," he said, "you might be done if so be you was half a wink late. It's not that I've a word to say in favour of any matter of punctuality in the Army; but they're the way of making a mighty fuss over trifles. It was told me the name they put to it is red tape."