“That’s so,” said Nelson. “You’re in disgrace, Tommy, and you’ll have to cook us something pretty nice if you expect to be forgiven.” “Something nice!” growled Tom. “What do you expect? Spanish omelet and sirloin steak?” “I don’t care what we have,” replied Dan, “but I want mine fried on both sides.” “Me too,” added Nelson. Tom left them to their dressing and took himself off to the corner of the engine room where the stove and sink and ice box were located, and which he had nautically dubbed the galley. Here he busied himself, chuckling now and then over the lobster episode, until Barry’s frantic barking took him to the door. He looked out and then called to the others. The lobsters, quite still now, as though wearied by their recent experiences, were lying side by side near the after locker. In front of them, a safe two feet away, stood Barry. His tail—there was only a bare two inches of it—wagged violently, the hair stood up along the middle of his back and neck, and he was daring the lobsters to mortal combat. Finding himself reinforced by the quartet of laughing boys at the door, he grew very brave and began a series of wild dashes at the enemy, barking hysterically. “Anybody want to eat them?” asked Bob finally. Nobody seemed enthusiastic, and Bob heaved them over the side. “There goes your fifty cents, Tommy,” he said. Tom glanced at Dan and grinned. “It was worth it,” he said. After a breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee the four went on deck, feeling ready for anything. Nelson and Tom found seats on the edge of the cabin roof, Dan and Bob sat on the after seat, and the subject of destination was discussed. Bob advanced the merits of the Maine coast as a cruising ground, Dan was in favor of heading south toward New York and Long Island Sound, Tom was for staying where they were, and Nelson remained neutral. Thus matters stood when a launch of about the size of the _Vagabond_ chugged around the point and picked up moorings some fifty feet distant. The discussion died away and the boys watched the new arrival with interest. Her name was the _Amy_, and she was very similar to the _Vagabond_ in build, save that her cabin was much longer and her whole length perhaps two feet greater. She flew the flag of the Knickerbocker Yacht Club of New York, and trailed a tender behind her. She had a crew of five men, and as the tender was drawn alongside one of the number called across. “Hello, there!” he called. “Are you entered for the race?” “No,” answered Nelson. “What race do you mean?” “To-morrow’s. Marblehead to College Point. Saw you had a tender along, and thought maybe you were in it.” “No; are you?” replied Nelson. “Yes.” They seemed to lose interest in the _Vagabond_ after that, and piled into their tender and rowed across to the hotel landing. “Going for breakfast, I guess,” mused Bob. “What race are they talking about, Nel?”