Frank thought so, too; but the reputation of owning the
swiftest boat in the village was well worth trying for, and he
determined to do his best.
Since his race with the Champion, he had made larger sails for his
boat, and added a flying-jib and a gaff-topsail, and he found that her
speed was almost doubled.
The Champion soon fell behind, and the two rival boats were left to
finish the race, which, for a long time, seemed undecided. But, at
length, the Speedwell, with her strong mast groaning and creaking
under the weight of the heavy canvas, began to gain steadily, and soon
passed the Alert. Ten minutes' run brought them across the river; and
when Frank, proud of the victory he had gained, rounded the long dock,
the Alert was full four rods behind.
The breeze was rapidly dying away, and not one of the coast-guards had
yet reached the shore. Some of them had been carried almost a mile
below the creek, and lay with the sails idly flapping against the
masts.
Frank and Ben sailed slowly along up the creek, and, when they arrived
at the end of the dock, the Speedwell was "made fast," and the boys
started to get their mail.
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