“Why not? I thought it would be good sport.”
“It ought to be, but I don’t know how good a sportsman Gladys is. If she wins, it will probably make her feel a lot better. But if she loses–!”
“I hadn’t thought of that side of it,” said Eleanor. “But–oh, well, even so, I think it will probably be a good thing. Gladys has got a lot of hard lessons to learn, and if this is one of them, the sooner she learns it, the better. You and I will be along to see fair play. That will keep her from having anything to say if she does lose, you see.”
“We’re in for it, anyhow, so I didn’t mean to have you worry about it. I think anything that I might have done to stop the race would have done more harm than the race itself can possibly do, in any case.”
“I’m quite sure of that, Mary. Well, we’ll get aboard our yacht and you’d better do the same. They’re probably waiting impatiently for you.”
The flat-bottomed skiff that Bessie had despised proved handy for carrying the Eleanor’s crew out to her. While the others climbed aboard, Dolly, who insisted upon attending to everything herself when she possibly could, arranged a floating anchor that would keep the boat in place against their return, and a few moments later the Eleanor’s snowy sails rose, flapping idly in the faint breeze.
“Get up that anchor!” directed Dolly. “Bessie, you help Margery. She’ll show you what to do.”
Then a shiver shook the little craft, the wind filled the sails, and in a few moments they were creeping slowly toward the opening in the bar. Seated at the helm, Dolly looked over toward the other camp and saw that the other yacht was also under way.
“What do they call their boat?” she asked.
“The Defiance,” said Eleanor.