"You could get all the racing you want over at Bay City, Dolly. The yacht club there has races every week, I think."
"But Miss Eleanor would never let me sail in one of those races, Margery. I guess she's right, too. I may be pretty good for a girl, but I'm afraid I wouldn't have a chance with those men."
Margery pretended to faint.
"Listen to that, will you?" she exclaimed. "Here's Dolly actually saying that someone might be able to do something better than she could! I'll believe in almost anything after that!"
"Well, you can laugh all you like," said Dolly, with spirit. "But if we should have a race, I'll be captain, and I know some people who won't get a chance to be even on the crew. They'll feel pretty sorry they were so fresh, I guess, when they have to stay ashore cooking dinner while I and my crew are out in the sloop!"
Then from the beach came the primitive call to breakfast—made by the simple process of pounding very hard on the bottom of a frying pan with a big tin spoon. That ended the talk about Dolly's qualifications as a yacht captain, and there was a wild rush to the beach, and to the tents, since those who had been in for an early swim could not sit down to breakfast in their wet bathing suits. But no one took any great length of time to dress, since here the utmost simplicity ruled in clothes.
"Well, what's the programme for to-day, girls?" asked Eleanor, after the meal was over.
"Each for herself!" cried half a dozen voices. And a broken chorus rose in agreement.
"I want to fish!" cried one.
"A long walk for me!" said another.