Bowral aca.
Bellefonte, Pa., May 10, 1929.
A —————————————S
———
OLD SAWS IN RHYME.
i
A stone that is rolling will gather no moss.
What's sauce for the goose, for the gun-
der is sauce.
Each cloud in the sky has a silvery lining
First capture the hare, before on it you're
dining. :
Don’t leave till tomorrow what now can
be done,
And always make hay while is shining
the sun.
Never count up your chickens before they |
are hatched.
When horses are stolen the barn door is
latched.
There are fish in the ocean as good as are
caught.
A child ne'er departs from right ways that
are taught.
As a twig is first bent so the tree is in-
clined.
For sheep that are shorn God doth temper
the wind.
Save not at the spigot and lose at the
bung.
A man born for drowning will never be
hung
Never borrow nor lend, if you would keep
a good friend.
The sword is less mighty than words that
are penned.
A stitch done in time will save ninety and
nine.
Fine feathers, they say,
that are fine.
will make birds
A bird in the hand
worth two.
Don’t ever bite more than you're able to
chew.
is, in the bushes,
Take care of the pence—of themselves
pounds take care.
A child will (won't) spoil if the rod you
should spare.
The truth is but spoken by children and
fools.
And children are cut when they handle
edged tools.
There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the
lip.
A stone wears away by continuous drip.
A fool and his money will certainly part.
And never fair lady is won by faint heart.
Whoever sows the wind will a whirlwind
soon reap.
Don’t buy what's not needed because it is
cheap.
Fools rush in where angels are fearful to
tread,
And o'er us a sword often hangs by a
thread.
In every closet do skeletons hide.
If wishes were horses a beggar might
ride,
i Cn —Detroit Free Press.
~ RACING LUCK,
Fred Rushmore and I were sand-
papering Blue Feather’s sides. Os-
car, my captain—he looks after the
power-boat Arrow we use as tender
—was flat on his back performing
dexterities with a putty-knife. Blue
Feather is a small International
Knockabout class one design sloop,
and Fred and I race her together on
Long Island Sound. Mrs. Rushmore,
Fred's mother, thinks that we are in-
sane.
“I ask you,” she maintains. “Go
out in a silly little sailboat there isn’t
room to turn around in, sit ona lot
of slats in three inches of water, get
soaked all afternoon from head to
foot, and then come home and talk
about it. I'd rather knit.”
And when Mrs. Rushmore has said
that, she has said everything. It is
true that the Knockabouts are rath-
er wet, and the man up on the weath-
erside gets his in any sort of chop.
We don’t attempt to argue with
Mrs. Rushmore—a woman either does
or does not understand—but just the
same she is a very charming person,
and I should be only too pleased to
have her for my mother-in-law. For
Anne Rushmore, in my opinion, is one
of the twelve most beautiful girls in
the world. :
Anne was watching us sandpaper
Blue Feather. We were plunging
about in rubber boots between tides
alongside the yacht club dock, work-
ing against time as the class rules
only allow you one tide at stated in-
tervals; and Anne was looking down
upon us, in more senses than one,
leaning over the dock railing.
“How much longer are you going
to rub your little boat?” Anne in-
quired. ‘You've been doing it for
hours.”
“We're going to sandpaper her
down until she’s smooth as glass,” I
informed her. “And then we'll settle
down and really do some sandpaper-
ing. The first seven hours are the
hardest.”
“You think a lot of your little boat,
don’t you, Peter?” Anne's voice came
lightly down to us, as innocent as a
baby’s laugh.
“I do,” I replied. And I do. I think
the world of Blue Feather.
~ “That's awfully nice,” Anne re-
marked. “A man ought to have
something he really cared for.”
Fred went on with his sandpaper-
ing, and said nothing. He never in-
terferes one way or the other, but of
course he understands perfectly. Os-
car crawled along a little farther on
his back and said nothing, naturally.
But I suppose he also understands
perfectly.
I suppose the entire Western Yacht
Club understands, and what the ver-
anda understands is soon common
property on the anchorage, via the
captains’ float. And they all under-
stand that I would like very much to
marry Anne, and that she refuses to
a racing man.
arry a racihg man Never,” she
proclaims when the subject comes up,
as it will from time to time. “Sit
all Saturday—Sunday too in your
€
class—twiddling my thumbs while
my husband is out on the Sound? No,
sir. And supper spoiled at home be-
cause the little treasure is becalmed
coming in? No, sir. cruising if you
like, but not racing. Get rid of Blue
Feather if you want to talk to me.”
Anne is simply being obstinate.
She is very fond of the water, and
Blue Feather is never becalmed after
a race because Oscar is always there
in the Arrow to bring her home. And
I won't get rid of Blue Feather and
that's flat.
I mean, a girl has no right. I can
be just as obstinate as Anne. We
have both been obstinate now for
some time. Well, love me, love my
boat—my little boat, as Anne persists
in calling it. I don’t object to her
Girl Scouts.
“Are you going to be at the dance
tonight?” Anne began again.
i She knew very well that we would
{not be at the dance. It was the day
before the annual Long Distance race,
and the start was at nine o'clock the
next morning. We had sacrificed the
Saturday race in order to pull Blue
Feather out and put her in trim, and
we would be obliged to wait around
on the dock until the ten o'clock tide
that evening so as to get her off and
back to her mooring. Anne knew al!
that.
“No,” I told her, “we will not be
at the dance, except perhaps to look
in a bit while we're waiting for the
tide. Won't be dressed anyway.”
“I see. Too much trouble, of
course.”
“And after we've parked Blue
Feather,” I went on, “we're going tc
turn in. Hard day ahead of us to-
morrow. We've got one leg on the
Cup and we're taking no chances.”
“Oh, taking no chances, hey?”
Anne repeated the words, and wher
I looked up she was gone.
Oscar wriggled his feet. Fred had
ducked down under the starboard side
and was invisible. Some very thor:
ough sandpapering was done for a
while. She was really beginning to
come off smooth; that lovely glassy
surface and not a seam showing. Fi-
nally Oscar scrambled up.
“Putty in my eye,” he grumbled.
“She won't leak a drop now, Mr.
Shirley, I'll swear to that.”
He went off towards the lockers,
stopping to rub a critical thumb
along the hull of Prunella, on the
other side of the dock. Prunella also
has one leg on the Long Distance
Cup. Two wins it. Secretive lot, the
Prunella outfit. They put something
phony on their keel which makes it
look like marble. Oscar has been try-
ing for a long time to find out what
it is. Cement paint and something.
But their Olaf never leaves anything
lying around.
“Anne's coming out to see the race
tomorrow,” he informed me. !
“She is?” I was under the port
side and remained there. “That's
fine. Pass me the bucket.” |
Fred passed n.c the bucket.
“She and Mother,” Fred continued.
“Very dressy party.”
“Going out with the Commodore, I
suppose?” I inquired. Anne often
does. i
|
“No, not with the Commodore—
let’s have the bucket again if you're
through—somebody else.” y
A lot of water ran up my arm
from the sponge I was holding.
“Not with the Co-commodore?” I
stammered. I always do that when
I am surprised, and Fred knows it.
“No. She’s going out in the Bim-
bo with Fales Gurney.”
“Fales Gurney!” I exclaimed.
I don’t stammer any more when I
get angry, and Fred knows that too.
Fales Gurney used to own Prunella,
but he sold her, and now he has giv-
en up racing. Tears around in a big
expresspower cruiser. I dislike him,
and I dislike his Bimbo.
“Yes, Fales Gurney.” Fred was
wiping his hands, I think on my
sweater. “He’s taking her to the
the dance tonight too. These runners
need greasing——"
More sandpapering, and a thick
silence. Fales Gurney. Fred Rush-
more is a good chap. He dislikes
Fales Gurney as much as I do. There
was a terrific roar suddenly from the
locker-house megaphone.
“Onthebimbo! Bimboahoy!”
Felix, the dock master, calling a
yacht on the anchorage. Calling the
Bimbo.
“Hello?” the hail came back across
the water. :
“Grrocerees!”
“All right!”—from the bay.
Fred laughed. “Very dressy
party,” he reminded me. “Groceries
and everything. Very nice cruising
yacht, the Bimbo.”
“Give me a match and shut your
face,” I advised him. I've known him
very intimately for years. |
More sandpapering.
Fred and I elected to dine just as
we were in the Skippers’ Room. The
sunset gun and the “Star Spangled
Banner” from the dance orchestra
had caught us still fussing with Blue
Feather, and I knew if I was not out
in the Arrow before Evening Colors
that Oscar would not be expecting
me. ) i
The Skippers’ Room is one of the
pleasant and convenient institutions
of the Western Yacht Club. It used
to be the bar, of course, and we have
the yacht models there. If you have
come in late from racing and want to |
catch a bite without changing, you
can do so in that room no matter |
what full-dress function may be go-
ing on out on the veranda.
We are essentially a racing club,
and we believe that the comfort of
our racing skippers and crews comes
first. And after a day's racing, com- |
fort frequently is represented by im-
mediate food. And such beverages
as may occur to the mind in a room
which is no longer a bar. No, sir.
But we find it agreeable to keep Au-
Fustus in charge of the room, just as
e was before.
Well, he’s been there for years and
he knows us all, and gentlemén must
have fice occasi . ‘There is no
law against ice. Or against oranges
either.
The place was quite crowded. It
had been a fiat day out on the Sound;
|all
and the fleet had been late finishing.
Victories Thirties, Interclubs, Six
Meters, Stars—a lot of the boys were
there.
and jumpers, sons and their fathers.
Slaves of the wind. The racing men
that Anne will not marry.
Bacon and eggs, coffee and a cloud
of pipe smoke. Diagrams, matches
on the table and all the old alibis in’
full swing. The good talk which Mrs.
Rushmore cannot abide.
It’s always been sweet music to me,
and I'd rather listen to it than eat.
The Prunella crowd caught sight of
us right away, and made room for us
at their table with appropriate in-
sults.
“Been pot-leading Blue Feather?”
they wanted to know. “Let's see
your hands.”
I rubbed my hands in Ted Jaffray’s
hair. He is Prunella’s skipper.
“No,” I told him. “We've been re-
painting Blue Feather’s name on our
stern.”
“What for?”
“So you'll have no trouble reading
it tomorrow, Jaff my boy.”
“Better put it on the bow then,” he
retorted. “And even then we’ll need
field-glasses to see it. Well, good luck 8
anyway, old scout.”
“Thanks; same to you. Hope we
have a decent day and no flukes.”
There is a door from the Skippers
Room onto the veranda, and it is sup-
posed to be kept closed; but sooner or
later someone opens it, and leaves it
open, and then it stays open. That
happened in due course on this occa-
sion, and from where I sat I could
look right through it. And I did not
need any of Ted Jaffray’s field-glasses
to see what was just beyond the door. '
Fales Gurney and his party. Quite
a large party. The Jaffray girls, and
the Spenders, and a flood of other
people. Fales Gurney all rigged up in a
mess jacket. He looks very well in it
too. How that man annoys me. Anne
was sitting next to him, facing the
door. A more than usually beautiful
Anne, it seemed to me. Very much
occupied with Fales Furney. KEspe-
cially after she caught me watching
her. But it wasn’t necessary for him
to bend so close to her. I watched
them get up, and go away and
dance, and come back several times.
Once they did not come back for
quite a while. I took a look in the
lounge and they were not there.
I went down on the dock to see if
Blue Feather was afloat. They were
not there either. I went down to see
if anyone had gone out to the Bimbo.
the launch float and realized that 1
mustn't be such a fool as to ask Felix.
I said something about the weather.
“Where is she?” Fred asked me.
and went back to the Skippers’ Room.
“I don’t know,” I replied,
thinking: “I can’t find her anywhere.
Red grinned. ‘The tide, fool. How
high’s the tide? Can we get the
Feather off?"
“Oh, the tide !" I plunged right in-
to the tide and gave him the result of
my observations. It would be anoth-
er half-hour at least.
“Then try to sit still,” he advised
me. Don’t get so nervous, or you
won't sleep.”
“Where's Anne?” I had had no in-
tention of asking him that, but there
it was. :
‘Right there at the table with
Gurney,” Fred laughed at me. “You
poor fool
1 turned around in the doorway,
and sure enough, there they were
again.
“Hello, Anne !”
ped out too before I knew it.
Anne came back from a trip around
the world, so to speak, and allowed
hér gaze to rest upon me. “Oh, hello,
Peter I” she exclaimed. I didn’t
know you were here.”
Liar. But of course I had stepped
without
into that one myself. Fales Gurney
smirked.
“Hello, Peter,” he greeted me.
“How's the old racing man tonight?”
“Hello, Fales.” I have reason to be-
lieve I glared at him. “Never better.”
“Hope you'll have a very successful
day tomorrow. Pull up a chair.”
“Thanks, but I've got to be going.”
“Peter has to put his little boat to
bed.” Anne's smile was angelic. “And
we'd better be going too.”
“Where are you going?” I had to
know.
“We're going to the country club
for a while,” Fales Gurney informed
me. ‘Wish you could come with us.”
“That would be awfully nice,” I as
sured him.
“Yes, it’s too bad.” Anne tucked her
hand under Fales Gurney’s arm.
“But there’s a terribly important
race tomorrow and Peter's taking no
chances—are you, Peter?”
Exit, laughing. I suddenly began
to wonder.
Anne went out, and the tide came
in, and we took Blue Feather to her
mooring.
‘Now go to bed,’ Fred commanded.
Felix came with the launch and put
me aboard the Arrow.
“Fine day tomorrow,” he prophesied
“Yes, sir— good breeze—yes, sir—
Bimbo's taking a party out— yes, sir
good night, Mr. Shirley.”
Oscar switched off the absent light
and sort of looked me up and down
He's been with me for years.
“Any guests aboard tomorrow?”
he inquired.
“No guests,” I annnounced.
“Fine,” said Oscar. “Big party or
the Bimbo.”
“Good night, Oscar,” I remarked
“Call me at seven.
“Seven o'clock yes sir. Good
night, Mr. Shirley.”
Sure, the whole anchorage knew
always does.
Seven o'clock and a clear day. A
brééze from the west and a promise
of more. Breakfast and those last:
minute odds and ends.
“Matches? Cigarets? Knife?’
car checked up on my presonal gad-
gets. “Cruising trim requirements
aboard. She hasn't leaked a drop
sir.”
The good soul already had been
over to look at her.
“Come out after us when you're
ready,” I told Lim. ‘Thé turning
mark’s off Captain's Island some-
where. Keep us in sight, and remem-
It
Os-
Men in dilapidated flannels |
Those words slip-
"ber, there's mo time limit. If the
wind drops we may not finish until
after dark.”
“Yes, sir. Good luck, Mr. Shirley.”
All set. Eight o'clock, and aboard
Blue Feather. Fred was already
there with the sails and battens. And
a chocolate cake.
“Morning, Skip. Fine day.”
“Morning, Fred. Shove these oils
forward, will you?”
{ Fred shoved. The Prunella people
were aboard at the next mooring.
“Hello, there! Good luck!” they
called over.
“Good luck, Jaff.”
i No further amenities. Fred fussed
around quietly, doing all the neces-
sary things. He knows that I am
entirely useless—nervous as a cat—
for at least an hour before the start
of a race, and has acquired the per-
fect knack of telling me what to do
while seeming to ask if I want it
done. After the preparatory gun
goes he knows that I come to life,
‘and then he attends to his own busi-
ness. A splendid crew, and a dab on
a mouth-organ.
Well, we got ready. Battens, out-
haul, boom crutch. Half an hour tc
0
We got the main up, and Fred nip-
ped out with the jib. Up she went.
“All right, any time.”
“Cast off!”
Fred heaved the mooring can over-
board, and ducked back to his jib-
sheet. We were off, slipping away
through the anchorage to the starting
line in the bay.
| “Fifteen minutes to the prep,” he
announced. “Sail’s sitting very pret-
ty.”
I said nothing, but I always begin
to feel better when we are actually
under way. There was a power-boar
ahead, with her engine going at the
mooring. It was the Bimbo. I would
just as soon have seen a black cat.
We passed under her stern, ane
there was Anne on the after-deck.
Anne and Fales Gurney. I would
rather have seen a black cat. They
waved to us, and Anne leaned over
the rail.
{ “Good luck, Peter!” she called.
“Don’t take any chances, will you?”
“Ah, so’s your old man!” I called
back to her—and very nearly hit a
dingey. How to start the day wrong,
as Mr. Briggs would say.
{ The warning gun went, and we sail-
ed up and down while Fred looked
things over and gave me the news.
Who was there and what they were
doing. Sixteen entries. But Prunella
was right on our tail all the time.
“They’re all going to try for the
iother end of the line,” Fred advised
me.
| “We'll keep out of that mess and
cross near the Committee Boat,” I
decided. “Take no— Really about—
hard alee!”
i Prunella coming at us on the star-
board tack. Take no chances. I
Sanght myself looking for the Bim.
|
| “Thirty seconds!” Fred cried.
“Steady as you go now, so I can catch
the smoke.”
| The , warning signal was down. .
Fred had the watch, with his thumb
on the spring. Boom. The blue pre-
paratory went up. Fred released the
watch with the red disks showing.
Five minutes. One disk to a minute,
turning white, and the big hand tick-
ing off the seconds backwards. Sixty,
fifty, forty. We sailed back and
forth, killing time, watching Prunel-
la. Three minutes to go.
“Prunella’s about.’
Two minutes to go. It was not the
time to do anything except watch
Prunella—she was the boat we had to
cover—but I kept seeing the after-
deck of the Bimbo.
“One and a half!” Fred sang out.
“Watch yourself, Skip!”
“Where's Prunella?”
“Right astern.”
i I began to head for the stern of
the Committee Boat. Most of the
others were all jamming around the
other end of the line, for the wind-
ward berth on the port tack. I won-
dered whether Anne and Fales Gur-
ney were still sitting alone out on the
Bimbo’s—
“Sixty seconds,
about!”
Prunella was shooting for the cen-
ter of the line, forcing Susie and Par-
ley Voo.
“Forty—thirty—twenty—"
And that was a fine moment to
find myself wondering what they'd be
‘having for luncheon on the Bimbo!
| “Fifteen—ten—nine—eight—"
Prunmella was zooming down the
fifty, Prunella
line with right of way on the star- hour or more.
board tack—and trouble in store for
(some of the boys on the port tack
‘at the other end. She had timed 1t
beautifully. Well, we were right af-
ter her.
“Five—four—three—two—"'
The gun.
There was a nice little jam at the
other end, and considerable vocal
‘commotion. Prunella went right on.
| jib-sheet.
the tide would favor us.
“Ready about—hard alee!”
it to me.
“All right, Skip, let's go.
Voo about—Priunella about!”
We went, and ahead of us, but not
enough
ting on the after-deck. Alone,
their backs turned to us.
Prunella had us by a few seconds
at the Bottle Neck—she points higher
than we do—but we always can out-
reach and outrun her. And after we
turned the Channel Bell it was a run
all the way to Captain's Island. If
the breeze held. The others were al-
ready pretty well strung out, but
Susie and Parley Voo were very
much in the picture.
The Bimbo had gone to the left of
lus, and that worried me more than
when she was there in front of us for
me to see.
“How. does she feel, Skip? BEvery-
|
Parley (To the devil with the race.
|
too close—Fales Gurney is a decent |out.
chap that way—went the ward. The Arrow was on the other |
Bimbo. He and Anne were still sit- side of the Sound. We were headed
thing all right? Trim jib a bit?”
asked Fred.
“Just a
“Rotten luck,” Fred remarked. He
was examining the stay. “Funny.
too Perfectly good wire. Looks as though
much.” it had been cut.’
Sensitive business, a boat and her “It has been cut.” I informed him.
company. Fred didn’t have to ten “I cut it. I couldn't just quit, and
me, but I knew that he knew I wasn’t I've got something else to do just
there. Not entirely. There is some- now. Perhaps you know what. I'm
thing in the skipper’s touch on the telling you, and if you ever tell a liv-
stick that communicates itself to ev- ing soul we'll never sail together
erything aboard. again.”
You feel it in your spine when “My friend”—Fred looked at me—
you're crewing, if things aren't just “I don’t know what to say to you.”
so. As Ted Jaffray says, you're all And then he began to loosen the
disorganized. And Blue Feather was the severed ends. When he got
all disorganized. There was a rhythm through, the stay really looked as if
lacking, because you can’t race and it had parted. Good egg, Fred Rush-
think of anything else at the same more. Nothing further was said. We:
time. stowed the gear, and the Bimbo took:
You've got to there with every Us aboard. Fales Gurney looked a bit.
thought and nerve and muscle! And green himself, welcoming us. Iwent
I wasn’t there. I was on the Bimbo. straight up to Anne.
“Watch yourself, Skip—wind’s
shifting a little!” Fred doesn’t usu- were alone for a moment.
ally have to tell me things like that. “I thought I—I'd better not take:
We got out in the Sound and put any chances,” I told Anne. “Lose:
up the whisker pole—the I. K.’s don’t —lose a mast.”
carry any spinnaker—and the wind She looked at me, and her very
dropped. Sound like a lake, and hot- Wonderful eyes began to twinkle.
ter than hot. Little catspaws once ‘You big idiot!” Those were her
in a while. Maddening. sweet words. “I saw you throw
“Better hang on to Prunella,” Fred away the nippers.”
advised. “You saw me?”
I thought so. She was out in front, “Yes. I was watching through the:
while Susie and Parley Voo were glasses. And all my money on Blue
hanging on to us. Parley Voo espe- Feather against Prunella to win.”
cially. That boat moves if you blow “On Blue Feather? Whom were
smoke at her. Fred produced his You betting with?”
mouthorgan and played them the song Fales Gurney, stupid.”
for which she was named. Dear Az.
u ight—.
Up ahead, Ted Jaffray got out his for Bi 5 nen Shout (he bet
field-glasses and made a show Of that evening just as we were, on the-
looking at us. A great deal of time veranda, and F
passed, while we stewed, and tried sit next to ) Palen Gurney aig no
smoke bombs and called upon the
gods.
“This wind’s coming back from the
shade, maybe—not
“What on earth—" she began. We-
I had my moment with Oscar
though. :
i : “Well,” I hailed him when I
south,” Fred prophesied. “Look at *ghoard the Arrow, at a Went.
that smoke.” hour, “too b tt?
South my eye. But it came back— packstay—" 2%, Wasnt 7... Botte
from the west again. We began to “Good night, Mr. Shirley!” Oscar
move. replied with the
“Attaboy!” Fred crowed. “Blow by Tr081= ScoruTh) Pons
your head off —go get ’em, Feather!” Oh, well, it was a good d ;
We began to move very fast. Good Blue Feather is et ay: ana
steady breeze. We were pulling away Hearst's Int
from Parley Voo, and Prunella was ernatiopal Cosmopolitan,
attending to her own affairs now. wg BIBLE WEN
Fred was playing the jib, getting ev- EN “DEACON” eh IN.
erything that came.
Racing down the sands of Day-
Time passed, and we were up with
Prunella. Fred and I spoke in whis- tona Beach last month, from G
3 asoline -
pers, while he eyed Prunella surrep- alley to that beyond—Fate, the oe
titiously. & and destiny of those who trust their
You've got him worried, Skip,” lives to a cotterpin and four wheels
Fred kept telling me. “He's looking decreed that Major H. O. D. Segrave's.
around.” speed mark of 231 :
Ding-dong, neck and neck, and ev- ee stand. Tiles per hour
erybody happy. For once I complete- The news of the crash of J. M
ly forgot the Bimbo. Give her 8 White's Triplex startled the sport.
chance, and Blue Feather can run jing world. Lee Bible was unknown
like a hare. And Ted Jaffray knows to the follo
it. We passed Prunella; we pulled Qutside of i oh of the Toating road.
away from her. Sweet Papa! Al Fiorida dirt ano exhibitions on
; Bible had dor
was well in the best of worlds. very little race driving. He was ons
Blue Feather was all organized seasoned to the game of * ;
again, and the wind was freshening nerves” and for that San eon -
too. There's nothing like it in the g story back of the crash unknown:
world. To take God’s wind and Wa- to many of the sporting world. Lee
ter, and man’s wood, and hemp, and Bible was not making an official run,
canvas, and such = skill as one may gs many persons have thought. Lee:
possess, and get somewhere—and get Bible was attempting to prove to of-
there first. iG ia feials of the American Automobile:
oosot dog!” I permitted myself to Association that he was capable of
observe. handling the Tripl
And there was the Captain's Is- down i i Dlesintne Hadviash
land markboat up ahead. We would Lee Bible was on his last chance
turn the mark first, and then for the when he crashed. He had made sev-
long beat home. If we could just eral previous trial runs and, if on
hold on to our lead. Fred climbed in- this fatal run he did not prove to the
to his oil top. A. A. A. representatives that he was-
“I want you to know this wind’s capable of attempting that accom-
blowing,” he reminded me. “It’s go- plished by Segrave, there was anoth-
ing to be wet after we round the er waiting to take his place. That
mark.” one was—
“Let’er blow—ready to take “Deacon” Litz, consistent, non-
the whisker pole.” spectacular speed artist of Dubois,
No one had dreamed of luncheon. Pennsylvania, who was acquainted
We went whanging around, hauling with the “ropes” of the game and
in the main sheet for dear life. The Who had travelled the speed trail;
wind was blowing. knew the monotonous grind of In-
“Trim jib—flat as you can get it!” dianapolis bricks and the flying
Fred did his stuff, and went up on SPlinters of the faster board ovals.
the weather rail to take his dousin The day before Bible received the
—one foot over the cockpit coaming, checkered flag Litz rode down the
one arm around the shrouds, and the Same trail blazed by Segrave. “Dea-
rest of him principally outboard. Be- con” didn’t attempt to set a new rec-
hind us I recognized Oscar's jubilant ord, he rode down the sands to note
fnand on the Arrow’s electric horn, the peculiarities of the Triplex.
speeding us on. “Don’t take your foot off the acceler-
But the thing that I saw—when I ator too quick—release the gas grad-
should have been seeing nothing but ually—"” and other warnings passed
my telltale—was Anne on the bridge in review in Litz’s mind as he made
of the Bimbo. Anne with her back his ride. He found them all to be
turned, and Fales Gurney sitting be- true.
side her with his arm around her The following day Bible took the
shoulders. Well, on the rail. There Wheel of the Philadelphia car—he
was an argument about that after- Was going to prove to the Three “A”
wards. that he was capable. When the Flor-
Blue Feather was all disorganized ida dirt driver—garage mechanic
again. started his rum Litz was there look-
It got me, finally. Oh, not for an ing on.
We thrashed our way A veteran in the game, Litz watch-
back, first on one tack and then the ed the ambitious 42-year-old Bible
other, and we were holding Prunella prepare to start the run which would
—but I could not keep my mind oft mean that the garage mechanic
the Bimbo. Or my eyes whenever we would drive the Triplex in the official
passed her, for she was sliding along test or that the DuBois speedster
down the Sound, keeping up with the would take the wheel “tomorrow.”
leaders. And every time I saw her, The motor was set humming—Bible
I saw Anne and Fales Gurney, and at took his place in the close fitting
last a panic took hold of me. seat—the grind of the gears was heard
I was taking chances—I was tak-1 down the Beach—Litz watched with
ing one terrible chance. I suddenly searching eyes apparently turning ov-
in
|Fred put his hand tentatively on thé saw this whole business of the Bim- er in his mind what he would do if
Yes—it was wrong, but 1 po and the Long Distance race as he were called on “tomorrow”—the
jagreed with him. Let Prunella go. a show-down between myself and cylinders sent
We'd have to meet again at the Bot- ' Anne in which I could not afford to Triplex raced madly down the Beach
tle Neck going out of the bay, and win.
{
out their roar—the
—98, 105, 135, 150, 182 miles per
As a matter of fact, I didn't stop hour—a cloud of dust—silence—
to reason it out. To tell the truth = “Deacon” Litz turned away center-
Fred lighted a cigaret and passed I kept seeing Fales Gurney there at ing his thoughts on preparing for the
her elbow, and simply turned green. Indianapolis: grind May 30 and the
Altoona speed classic June 15—‘to-
There was a pair of wire nippers morrow” was not to come.
beside me on the shelf. I got them
Fred was on deck, facing for- |
FOOTING THE BILL.
Mr. Newman had - just recovered
With again for the Bimbo. I reached out from an operation and was talking to
| quickly and cut through the backstay a
friend.
supporting the mast, and let the nip- | “The sugeon,” he remarked, “said
pers go overboard. he'd have me on my feet again in
“Look out!” I yelled, and Fred three weeks.”
came scrambling in to the cockpit as “Well, he did it, didn’t he?” asked
I luffed Blué¢ Feather up. “Backstay’s the friend.
parted—down with the main—down | ‘He did, indeed,” responded Mr.
with the main!” Newman. “I had to sell my motor
He had hesitated—and I felt like !car to pay his bill.”—Christian Regis-
a skunk—but crews don't argue with ter.
their skippers, and If I chose not to
take any chances of losing my mast | Prof:—“How many seasons in the
in that wind it was my affair. The | vear are there?”
main camé down. The Bimbo saw Sude:—“There are three, Professor,
what was héppening and threw us a football, basketball, and baseball.
line. We were out of the race. | — Balance Sheet