Slowly the Anna Maud drew ahead of the Bertha, the captain of the latter boat realizing the advantage which the others were gaining too late to change his own course. As they neared the mark, even the Surprise and the Sally were leading the Bertha, which now seemed to be hopelessly out of the race.
The race, indeed, seemed narrowed down to these three yachts, with a slight advantage in the Anna Maud’s favour.
“Hooray!” cried Harvey, “we are holding the Anna Maud in fine style. She’s gaining ever so little, not enough thus far to cover our time allowance. They say she is fast off the wind, but so are we. That’s the best point of the Surprise. She sails better running free than any boat of her size I ever saw.”
“Cracky!” cried young Tim, “I hope we take that silver cup back to camp with us. We’ll march through the streets with it, if we get it.”
“Yes, if we get it,” replied Harvey. “It don’t do to be too sure, though.”
Now the Anna Maud was rounding the stake-boat and coming back over the course, not quite before the wind, owing to the slant to the westward that it had taken, but with her sheet well out.
“The wind is in our favour,” said Harvey, gleefully. “There’s just enough slant to it so our jibs will help us some. They will draw a little, and that gives us an advantage over that catboat. Let that sheet go, now, Joe, the minute we turn the mark.”
A moment later the Surprise rounded the stake-boat, with a good lead over the Sally, and still near enough astern of the Anna Maud to give her a good race.
“Up with that centreboard, now, George—lively,” cried Harvey. “It’s a big board, and we don’t want to drag it a minute longer than we have to. It counts a whole lot with this tide running against it. What’s the matter? What are you waiting for? Up with it!”
“Why, hang the thing!” exclaimed George Baker, “I’m trying to get it up as hard as ever I can. It won’t come. It’s stuck.”