“Balsam wins!” shouted Mr. Maxwell, and a hearty cheer for the victor was immediately given by the crew of the defeated boat.
“How did you like my stunt?” grinned George proudly, addressing his remarks to his three companions. “Any time you want to win a sailing race just come to me and I’ll tell you how to do it.”
“Huh!” snorted Fred, “I suppose you‘ll have a big head for the next year on account of that.”
“Look here, Fred,” exclaimed George, winking at his other friends. “I wouldn’t say very much if I were you. You insisted upon reefing the sail and as a result we nearly lost the race; if it hadn’t been for my great brain and cleverness we surely would have been beaten. However, as long as it turned out the way it did I will forgive you.”
“I made an error of judgment and yours was nothing but luck,” retorted Fred. “I want you to remember that, too.”
The boats were now returning to their moorings and when they had been made fast the crews went ashore and met on the dock to talk things over.
“You boys certainly have the closest finishes I’ve ever seen,” exclaimed Mr. Maxwell. “You don’t try to fix them that way, do you?”
“Not if we can help it, I tell you,” said Thomas laughingly. “I thought we were going to win this last race.”
“So did we,” exclaimed Grant. “You would have won, too, if it hadn’t been for George here. At least that’s what he says, anyway.”
“What did he do?” inquired Mr. Maxwell curiously.