"You'll take the mast out of her, Don John," said Ned Patterdale, wiping the salt water from his face.
"If I do, I'll put in another," replied Donald. "But you can't snap that stick. The Skylark's mast will go by the board first, and then it will be time enough to look out for ours."
"You have beaten her, Don John," added Ned.
"Not yet. 'There's many a slip between the cup and the lip.'"
"But you are a quarter of a mile ahead of her, at least. It's blowing a gale, and we can't carry all this sail much longer."
"She can carry it as long as the Skylark. When she reefs, we will do the same. I want to show you what the Sea Foam's made of. She is as stiff as a line-of-battle ship."
"But look over to windward, Don John," exclaimed Ned, with evident alarm. "Isn't that a squall?"
"No; I think not. It's only a shower of rain," replied Donald. "There may be a puff of wind in it. If there is, I can touch her up."
"The Skylark has come up into the wind, and dropped her peak," added Norman, considerably excited.
But Donald kept on. In a moment more a heavy shower of rain deluged the deck of the Sea Foam. With it came a smart puff of wind, and the skipper "touched her up;" but it was over in a moment, and the yacht sped on her way towards the goal. Half an hour later she passed the Penobscot, and a gun from her saluted the victor in the exciting race. About four minutes later came the Skylark, which had lost half this time in the squall.