"Well, yes, what's left of it--and what I c'n borrow. Old man Duncan'll stake me, and there's others. I hope, though, it blows a jeesly gale. For this one, God bless her, she c'n sail, and some of them'll find it out--when it's too late, maybe. Sam Hollis for one. There's a man I'd give my eye almost, to beat. And maybe the skipper hasn't got it in for him! He doesn't say much, Maurice don't, but a while ago, after coming down from aloft, Billie Simms hails him and tells him that the cutter people know all about that little school to-day--and who told him, who told him? Well, the skipper'll drive this one to the bottom before he ever lets Sam Hollis or any of Withrow's vessels get by him when we race. Yes, sir. But, Georgie-boy"--Clancy shouldered away from the foremast--"how is it for a wedge or two of one of those blueberry pies you got cooling there? Just a little wedge, now. But you don't need to be too close-hauled with your knife--no. Sailing by the wind is all right when you're jogging in and out among the fleet, and nothing partic'lar doing except an eye out for mackerel, but you want to give her a full always--always, Georgie--when you're cutting pie. There's the lad--straight across the beam. And now at right angles again. And now lay one atop of the other, and you have it--an invention of my own--a blueberry sandwich. M-m--but look at the juice squish through her scuppers!" He held it up for all of us to have a look. "Now another little wash of coffee in the wake of that and I'll be all right for a fine little watch aloft." He jammed his sou'wester hard down, and heroically waved away the remainder of the pie. "No, no. First thing I know I'll be having dyspepsia. I never had it yet, but I might," and then heaved himself up the companionway, humming, as he went, one of his old favorites: "Oh, the 'Liza Jane and the Maria Louise Sailed a race one day for a peck of peas. You'd hardly believe the way them two Carried sail that day--they fairly flew. People ashore they said, 'Gee whiz! The 'Liza Jane the fastest is.'" We could hear him scrambling, still humming, over the barrels on deck. He halted long enough by the rail to say, "How is it, boys?" to the watch on deck, and then swung himself up the rigging. Once aloft he had his work cut out, with hours of strain on brain and nerve. But Clancy never minded--he never minded anything so far as we could make out. XXIII DRESSING DOWN