Captain Jim Martel’s anger at being outmanœuvred was not lessened by the figure of Jack Harvey standing up astern and grinning at him derisively. He glared back angrily at the young yachtsmen. But Harvey’s blood was up, too. “Why don’t you learn to sail that old tub of yours?” he called out, sneeringly. Martel’s answer was to put his helm hard down, bring his boat about, and stand up on the track of the _Viking_. “Come on, we’ll give you a tow out to sea again,” cried Harvey. “Go easy, Jack,” said Henry Burns. “He’s the pepperiest skipper I’ve seen in all Samoset Bay. Better let him alone. He’s angry enough already.” “Yes, but he’s to blame,” said Harvey. “When anybody hits me, I hit back.” And forthwith he made gestures toward the other boat, as of urging it to hurry, by beckoning; and he coiled a bit of the free end of the main-sheet and threw it back over the stern, indicating that it was for the other craft to pick up, so as to be towed by the _Viking_. The effect on Skipper Martel was, indeed, amusing. He sprang up from his seat, handed the tiller to one of his boys and rushed forward, where he stood, shaking a fist at the crew of the _Viking_ and calling out angrily. He made a comical figure, with his black, shaggy head wagging, and with his angry sputtering and his pretence of pursuit, whereas the _Viking_ was leaving the pinkey rapidly astern. Henry Burns joined in the laughter, but he repeated his warning: “Better let him alone, Jack.” Which warning, now that the skipper of the pinkey strode aft again, Jack Harvey finally heeded. “Funny how that fellow gets furious over nothing,” he said. “We’ll have to have some fun with him.” “You like an exciting sort of fun, don’t you, Jack?” said Henry Burns, smiling. But it was plain he took it more seriously. They fished for four days more with varying success, and with a Sunday intervening. They were getting toughened to the work; their hands growing calloused with the hard cod-lines; their knowledge of working their boat in rough water and heavy weather increasing daily; their muscles strengthened with the exercise; and their appetites so keen that young Joe might have envied them. One day it rained, but they went out just the same, equipped for it in oilskins, rubber boots, and tarpaulins, and made a good haul. “Well, here’s our last day for a week or so,” said Henry Burns, as they stood out one morning for the fishing-grounds. “It’s back to Southport to-morrow. We mustn’t get too rich all at once.”