“All right,” smiled John. “I guess you didn’t do any harm anyway.”
“That’s the way I figured,” exclaimed George. “All sailors are superstitious and they believe in those things. As long as we’re sailing, why don’t we try them ourselves?”
“Where’s your breeze?” demanded Grant.
“There it comes,” said George, pointing astern of them. A puff of wind was approaching and a patch of the water could be seen to be ruffled by its breath. A moment later it struck the Balsam and in answer the little catboat increased its speed.
“Why won’t the breeze help them as much as it does us?” inquired Fred.
“We’ll hope they won’t get any of it,” said George. “You notice that that last puff didn’t hit them and that we gained a little by it.”
“It’s certainly close,” said Grant. “We don’t want another tie, though, and we don’t want second place, either.”
“Only a quarter of a mile to go,” said Fred. “We’ll need more wind.”
“Scratch the mast again, Pop,” urged John.
George did so and another gust of wind caught them and drove them along a little faster.