Frank and Andy Afloat | Page 2

a
smile.
"Oh, you get out!" laughed Andy. "I'll beat you yet. But I like your
company, that's why I let you catch up to me."
"Oh, yes!" answered Frank, half sarcastically. "But why don't you stop
talking? You can't talk and row, I've told you that lots of times. That's

the reason you lost that race with Bob Trent last week--you got all out
of breath making fun of him."
"I was only trying to get him rattled," protested Andy.
"Well, he got the race just by sticking to it. But go on. I don't care. I'm
going to win, but I don't want to take an unfair advantage of you."
"Oh, lobsters! I'm not asking for a handicap. You never can beat me in
a thousand years." And, with a jolly laugh Andy began to sing:
"The stormy winds do blow--do blow, And I a winning race will
row--yo ho! You'll come in last, Your time is past, Out on the briny
deep, deep, deep! Out on the briny deep!"
"All right, have your way about it," assented Frank good naturedly. "I
can stand it if you can," and with that he increased his strokes by
several a minute, until his skiff had shot ahead of his brother's, and was
dancing over the waves that, now and then, brilliantly reflected the sun
as it came from behind the fast-gathering clouds.
"Oh, so you are really going to race?" called Andy, somewhat surprised
by the sudden advantage secured by his brother. "Well, two can play at
that game," and he, also, hit up the pace until in front of both boats
there was a little smother of foam, while the green, salty water swirled
and sparkled around the blades of the broad ashen oars, for the boys did
not use the spoon style.
For perhaps two minutes both rowed on in silence, and it was so quiet,
not a breath of wind stirring, that each one could hear the labored
breathing of the other. The pace was beginning to tell, for, though
Frank was not over-anxious to make record time to the dock, he was
not going to let his brother beat him, if he could prevent it.
"I shouldn't wonder but what there'd be a storm," spoke Andy again,
after a pause. He couldn't keep quiet for very long at a time.
"Um," was all the reply Frank made.

"What's the matter; lost your tongue overboard?" questioned Andy with
a chuckle.
Frank did not reply.
"I'm going to pass you," called the younger brother a moment later
when, by extreme exertion, he had regained the place he had held, with
the bow of his craft in line with Frank's. Then Andy fairly outdid
himself, for, though Frank was rowing hard, his brother suddenly shot
ahead.
"It's about time you did some rowing," was Frank's quiet remark, and
then he showed that he still had some power in reserve, for he caught
up to his brother, and held his place there with seeming ease, though
Andy did not let up in the furious pace he had set.
"Oh, what's the use of killing yourself?" at length the younger lad fairly
panted. "It's--it's farther than I thought."
He began losing distance, but Frank, too, had no liking for the fast clip,
so he, likewise, rowed slower until the two boats were on even terms,
bobbing over the long ground swell that seemed to be getting heavier
rapidly.
From time to time one brother or the other glanced over his shoulder,
not so much to set his course, for they could do that over the stern,
having previously taken their range, but in order to note the aspect of
the fast-gathering clouds which were behind them.
The wind, which had died out shortly after they had started on their row
that morning, now sprang up in fitful gusts, with a rather uncanny,
moaning sound, as if it was testing its strength before venturing to
develop into a howling storm.
"Don't you think it's going to kick up a rumpus?" asked Andy, tired of
keeping quiet.
"Um," spoke Frank again, for his breath was needed to keep up his

speed in the swells.
"There you go again--old silent-face!" and Andy laughed to take the
sting out of his words. "Your tongue will get so tired being still so long
that it won't know how to wiggle when you want it."
Frank smiled, and glanced over his shoulder again. He noted that the
dock, which was their goal, was now a little more than half a mile
distant. He could see several fishing boats and other craft making for
the more sheltered part of the harbor. Frank was calculating the space
yet to be covered, to decide when he should begin the final spurt, for,
though