And then--one elbow was hitched in the weather rigging and a half hitch around his waist--the skipper swung around, and looking over to the Withrow, he went on: "I don't see, Mr. Duncan, why we don't stand a pretty good chance to win out on Hollis." "Why not--why not--if anything happens to the Lucy." It jarred us some to think that even there, in spite of the great race the Johnnie was making of it, she was still, in the old man's eyes, only a second string to the Lucy Foster. About then the wind seemed to come harder than ever, but Clancy at the wheel never let up on the Johnnie. He socked it to her--wide and free he sailed her. Kept her going--oh, but he kept her going. "If this one only had a clean bottom and a chance to tune her up before going out," said somebody, and we all said, "Oh, if she only had--just half a day on the railway before this race." We were fairly buried at times on the Johnnie--on the Lucy Foster it must have been tough. And along here the staysail came off the Withrow and eased her a lot. We would all have been better off with less sail along about that time. In proof of that we could see back behind us where the Nannie O, under her trysail, was almost holding her own. But it wouldn't do to take it off. Had they not all said before putting off that morning that what sail came off that day would be blown off?--yes, sir--let it blow a hundred miles an hour. And fishermen's pride was keeping sail on us and the Foster. Hollis tried to make it look that his staysail blew off, but we knew better--a knife to the halyards did the work. It was after her big staysail was off and she making easier weather of it that the Withrow crossed the Lucy's bow for the first time in the race and took the lead. We all felt for Mr. Duncan, who couldn't seem to believe his eyes. We all felt for Wesley, too, who was desperately trying to hold the wind of the Withrow--he had even rigged blocks to his jib sheets and led them to cleats clear aft to flatten his headsails yet more. And Wesley's crew hauled like demons on those jib sheets--hauled and hauled with the vessel under way all the time--hauled so hard, in fact, that with the extra purchase given them by the blocks they pulled the cleats clean out, and away went the Lucy's jib and jumbo--and there was Wesley hung up. And out of the race, for we were all too near the finish for her to win out then unless the Johnnie and the Withrow capsized entirely. Mr. Duncan, when he saw the Lucy's crew trying to save the headsails, couldn't contain himself. "Cut 'em away--cut 'em to hell!" he sang out, and we all had to smile, he spoke so excitedly. But it was no use. The Lucy was out of the race, and going by her, we didn't look at Mr. Duncan nor Wesley Marrs--we knew they were both taking it hard--but watched the Withrow.