Inch by inch the Seamaid crept up to her rival. Despite all Scrivener's efforts, the gap grew less and less.
And now the winning post was close at hand. Could it be done? Could it be done? The frantic spectators behind the boom shouted themselves hoarse. Lord Tamerton bit his thumbs till the blood ran.
Nearer drew the Seamaid. Nearer and nearer. Nearer still. At the critical moment, Ralph, with a mighty effort, pushed down the wheel.
A bare three inches parted the Watersnake from the winning post when the slight shudder ran through her which told that the prow of the Seamaid had touched her stern. The bump had been made; the race was won.
Ralph Wonderson stood with the magnificent Island Cup in his hand, filled to the brim with bubbling champagne.
"To the restoration of the fortunes of the house of Tamerton," he said as he raised it to his lips.
The Turkey Buzzard (to the Sea Eagle). "You may call yourself a Turkey Buzzard if you like, but they'll still know you by your white feather."