“They’ll catch us on this straight away, I’m afraid,” said Grant in a low voice. The boats were so close together now it was necessary to speak softly to keep from being overheard.
“Everybody move back towards the stern,” ordered Fred. “Perhaps if we get her bow out of water a little she’ll do better.”
They followed Fred’s directions, but little by little the Spruce crept up on them. The wind was dropping rapidly; it seemed that on this woodland lake storms and winds came and went with equal facility.
The Spruce had blanketed their boat momentarily as Fred had predicted. Drawing even, however, the Balsam once more caught the breeze and the racers moved forward on even terms.
“We certainly have some great finishes, don’t we?” called Hugh from the other boat.
“Well, I should say so!” exclaimed Grant. “They’re heartbreaking.”
All at once George left his seat and moved forward.
“Where are you going, Pop?” demanded Fred. “You’d better come back here and sit down.”
George, however, paid no attention to this advice nor did he deign any answer. He continued serenely on his way until his reached the forward deck. Straightening himself up, his amazed companions saw him place his right hand on the mast and scratch it with his finger-nails.