CHAPTER XI
TOBY MAKES UP HIS MIND
“We’ll play you again next Wednesday,” said Arnold as the two nines, victor and vanquished, trailed back to the village.
“Yes, and beat you, too,” growled Frank Lamson. “You fellows had all the luck today and most of the decisions!”
“We may have had some luck,” responded Toby, “but you can’t say Mr. Trainor didn’t umpire fairly. And I guess our fellows will be all ready for you any time you say. If you want to play again Wednesday——”
“Make it a week from Wednesday,” advised George Dodson, nursing a hurt finger solicitously. “We need more practice than we’ve had, Deering.”
“A week from Wednesday, then,” agreed Toby. “We’re always glad to show you chaps how to play.” And he smiled provokingly at Frank. Frank only growled.
Arnold was on hand bright and early Monday morning to watch the interesting operation of fixing the ribs to the curving keel of the new knockabout. It was all Toby could do to persuade him to leave the shed and go fishing, and when Arnold did finally allow himself to be dragged away he was so full of his sailboat that he fell over every obstacle in the yard and talked incessantly about it until the Turnover was well out of the harbor. They chugged across to the flats above Johnstown and cast their lines over. It was a good day for fishing, with a cloudy sky and a favorable tide, but for some reason doubtless known only to them the fish refused the invitations extended. Arnold didn’t mind much, for he preferred talking to fishing today. With the launch tugging at her anchor they whiled away the most of the forenoon, Arnold at last fairly talking himself out on the subject of the knockabout.
“What would you name her?” he asked. “How do you like Sea Swallow or Sea Lark?”