The man handed the helm over to him, and the race began.
The yawl was on the windward beam, and both she and the schooner were carrying so much sail as now and again to be heeled lee rail under. At the end of twenty minutes the American boat seemed to be drawing ahead, although the Englishman, his red flag blowing out from his maintop, was still to windward.
Katrine and her aunt had abandoned their chairs for the weather transom of the cockpit. Katrine was thoroughly alive to the excitement of this impromptu contest, while Mrs. Fairhew's well-bred face wore a smile which might be taken to signify either her superiority to such a youthful means of enjoyment or confidence in the power of the Merle to outstrip her rival.
Jack, his strong, shapely hands grasping the spokes of the wheel, glanced only from the sails aloft to the yawl and back again. Katrine watched him furtively. His keen, eager pose, wholly free from self-consciousness and suggestive of power and vigilant activity, his masterful management of his craft,—she noted them all, and felt a certain pleasure in them, as if in some way she were responsible for them.
"Think we'll come 'round, Jerrold," said the captain.
He gave a rapid succession of orders as he twirled the spokes to port. The Merle came about on the other tack, the men got to stations on the weather side, and the ladies changed their places.
"Now we'll see how much we've gained on them," said Jerry, half to the guests and half to himself.
They drove toward the shore in the roughening sea, the port runway being now covered with a thin sheet of hissing green water. Up forward an occasional wave would come slap against the yacht's shoulder with a sound like a rifle-shot. The Isis crossed their bows at a distance so little ahead of them that her name and hail could be read easily without the aid of a glass.
"We're outfooting them, Jack. We'll have 'em cold in twenty minutes!" cried Tab enthusiastically.
"Don't count your chickens before they're hatched," laughed Katrine.