“He’s nervous, that’s all,” I said. “He’s always so when the skipper ain’t on deck.”
“All he thinks of is whether we’re beatin’ the Seamew, or not,” growled Bob.
“I notice that bothers him,” said I. “But he hasn’t bet a Greening apple on the race, has he?”
“It’s bigger than that, I reckon. They say it’s something betwixt him and his brother Alf. They’ve been sore on each other for a year or more.”
I knew Mr. Alfred Barney was second mate of the Seamew, and I wondered what the trouble was between the twin brothers.
But just as this moment something happened that gave our minds a slant in another direction. The snow squall had thinned. We could see pretty near the length of the deck from where we stood—Bob and I—at the wheel.
Suddenly my mate uttered a stifled yell and his hands dropped from the spokes.
“Looker there!” he gasped.
I hung to the wheel, although a kick of the schooner near sent me on my head.
“Catch hold here, confound you!” I bawled.