Part 27 (2/2)

”Like to have me tend that sheet for you?” he asked, carelessly.

Mr. Bangs waved him back. ”Don't touch that, my lad,” he cried. ”You might upset us in a minute. Never let a boy fool with a sheet--h.e.l.lo!”

A sharper and heavier flaw caught the big mainsail with full force; and then, as Mr. Bangs in his excitement threw the tiller over and headed the yacht farther off the wind, instead of up into it, the _Flyaway_ heeled dangerously, taking water over the side and causing the pug dog, which got a drenching, to howl dolorously. Mrs. Bangs gave a slight scream.

”Oh, it's all right. Don't be alarmed,” said Mr. Bangs, a.s.suringly. He failed to notice that prompt action on the part of Henry Burns, who had started the sheet at the critical moment, had saved them from a spill; and seemed to think that somehow he had righted things himself. However, as he observed that youth calmly tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the sail again, despite his admonition to let the sheet alone, he seemed to have undergone a change of heart.

”That's right,” he said, in a tone of not quite so much confidence, ”you just run that thing, while I do the steering.”

It began to get rough now, and the _Flyaway_ did not seem to justify it's owner's praise. It threw the water heavily--partly by reason of its clumsy build and partly because Mr. Bangs did not meet the waves with the tiller. One might have observed, moreover, that Mr. Bangs wore an anxious expression, and his hand shook slightly as he pressed the tiller.

A moment more, and he seemed almost dazed as the tiller was s.n.a.t.c.hed from his grasp by Henry Burns, who put the _Flyaway_ hard up into the wind, just in time to meet a squall that threw the lee rail under again.

The craft stood still, almost, with the sail s.h.i.+vering. Then Henry Burns eased her off gently, getting her under headway again. Mr. Bangs was deathly pale. The spray had dashed aboard freely and drenched him.

”We've got to reef, and be quick about it,” said Henry Burns, addressing the s.h.i.+vering skipper. ”What do you say? It's your boat.”

”What's that--eh, do you think so?” stammered Mr. Bangs. ”Reef her? Yes, that'll stop her tipping, won't it? Oh my! can you do it?”

His knees were wabbling, and he allowed himself to be pushed aside, sinking down, pale and trembling on the seat.

”Here, you take her, Jack,” said Henry Burns. ”Tim and I'll reef her. We can do it quick.”

He relinquished the tiller to Harvey, who threw the boat up into the wind, while Henry Burns and Tim seized the halyards and lowered the sail sufficiently to take in a double reef. Henry Burns had the tack tied down in a jiffy; whereupon Harvey drew the sail aft, hauled out on the pendant and pa.s.sed a las.h.i.+ng. Henry Burns and Little Tim had the reef points tied in no time. Before Mr. Bangs's wondering eyes the sail was hoisted, the topping lift set up, and the boat got under way again before he had had hardly time to think what had happened.

It was surprising to see how easily the craft went along under competent management. The spray flew some and the water came aboard, wetting the party to the skin and causing alarm; but there was little danger. The _Flyaway_ no longer took the brunt of the waves, but headed into them a little, keeping good headway on. What was better, she was making time, going to windward and approaching the landing.

Mr. Bangs gradually regained his colour, and took courage.

”Guess you've sailed some before,” he said, with a sickly smile. ”You go at it like old hands.”

”We've got a boat of our own,” replied Harvey. ”She's down in Samoset bay. We got a big price for her for the summer, so we let her.”

Mr. Bangs looked a bit sheepish.

”I'm glad you came along,” he said; and added with a glance at Mrs.

Bangs, and in a lower tone, ”I haven't sailed very much, to tell the truth. We do--er--mostly rowing in the Green Pond Fis.h.i.+ng Club.”

They came up to the landing in sailor fas.h.i.+on, and the party stepped out.

”Glad to see yer back,” remarked Coombs. ”Got just a bit worried about you. You came in nicely, though.”

Mr. Bangs smiled good-naturedly.

”Well,” he said, ”the fact is, I've got a crew. They are old sailors.

You ought to have seen them reef her quicker'n scat. They're going along with me after this, for the rest of their stay--and their friends, too. My wife says she's got enough sailing.”

”I should say I had,” said Mrs. Bangs.

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