“How many miles have you made now, Fred?” asked Paul.
“Just one hundred and one miles.”
“Oh, he’ll do it all right,” said Dudley.
“I intend to,” added Fred, quietly.
“Let’s sail over to the old ‘wrack,’” laughed Billy, in imitation of Maine sailors.
“Maybe there will be enough water under her stern so’s we can sail close under and climb aboard if you want to,” suggested Fred.
This met with approval for every one wanted a good chance to see what a “dead-eye” was and this was an old-timer; though everything removable had long since been taken, the rows of “dead-eyes” stuck up along her sides empty for years of the shrouds they formerly secured.
“What queer names things on boats have,” commented Trixie.
“You will admit that dead-eyes are appropriate in their connection with shrouds,” laughed Elizabeth.
“I never thought of that,” chuckled Billy.