"Good evenin', Cap'n Cai!" "Ah--Mr Philp? Good evenin' to 'ee." "It's like a providence my meetin' you; for as it chances you was the last man in my mind. I happened down to Wyatt's yard just now, and--if you'll believe me--there's reason to believe he'll get an order to-morrow for another 14-footer," "Ay? . . . What for?" "Why, to enter for the cup you're givin' on Whit-Monday." "You're mistaken," said Cai. "'Tis Mrs Bosenna that's givin' the cup, not I." "What? With her own hands?" "_To_ be sure. Why not?" "Then that accounts for it," said Mr Philp gleefully, rubbing his hands. "He's a deep one, is your friend Hunken! It did strike me as odd, too-- his givin' an order to Wyatt in all this hurry: but now I understand." "Drat the man! what _is_ it you understand?" "Why, as you know, Wyatt can knock him a shell together that'll win the race under everybody's nose. 'Tis a child's play, if you don't mind castin' the boat next day an' content yourself with scantlin' like a packin' case. At least, 'twould be child's play to any one but Wyatt, who can't help buildin' solid, to save his life. If the man had consulted me, I'd have recommended Mitchell. Mitchell never had a length o' seasoned wood in his store: he can't afford the capital. But to my mind he can--take him as a workman--shape a boat better than Wyatt ever did yet." "And to mine," Cai agreed. "The cunning of it, too! He to take the prize from her under your nose and you standin' by and lookin' foolish. For, let alone the craft, they say Cap'n Hunken can handle a small boat to beat any man in this harbour. He cleared a whole prize-list out in Barbadoes, I've heard." "What, 'Bias? Don't you be afraid. He can't steer a small boat for nuts." "Dear me! Then I must have been misinformed, indeed." "You have been," Cai assured him. "I reckon Mitchell can knock up a boat to give fits to anything of Wyatt's; and if 'Bias--if Cap'n Hunken is countin' on Wyatt to help him put the fool on me, it may happen he'll learn better." CHAPTER XXIII. PASSAGE REGATTA. "'Tis good to wear a bit of colour again," said Mrs Bosenna on Regatta morning, as she stood before her glass pinning to her bodice a huge bow of red, white, and blue ribbons. "Black never did become me." "It becomes ye well enough, mistress, and ye know it," contradicted Dinah. "'Tis monotonous, anyway. I can't see why we poor widow-women should be condemned to wear it for life." "_You_ bain't," Dinah contradicted again, and added slily, "d'ye wish me to fetch witnesses?" Her mistress, tittivating the ribbons, ignored the question. "I do think we might be allowed to wear colours now and again--say on Sundays. As it is, I dare say many will be pickin' holes in my character, even for this little outbreak." "There's a notion, now! Why, 'tis Queen Victory's Year--and a pretty business if one widow mayn't pay her respects to another!" "It do always seem strange to me," Mrs Bosenna mused. "What?"