Page:Punch (Volume 147).pdf/174

170 toast, eggs, tea and marmalade. He tapped at the door of the crow's-nest. There was no response. After a pause he tapped again and cautiously pushed open the door. The crow's-nest was empty!

"Betrayed," cried Ralph, clapping his hand to his forehead. A moment later two soft-boiled eggs devastated the snowy whiteness of the Seamaid's deck.

Despite their precautions, Lady Margaret had been spirited away during the night. As soon as he had recovered from the shock of the discovery, Ralph ran to Lord Tamerton and acquainted him with the terrible news. There a period of agonised and fruitless discussion.

"Wait! I have an idea," exclaimed Ralph presently. He pressed an electric bell, and a steward appeared almost simultaneously

"Jenkins, fetch me a race card," said Ralph.

"Yes, Sir," replied the steward. "I anticipated your request and have it here."

Ralph and Lord Tamerton bent their heads over the card.

"See," said the former. "It is as I hoped. Among the entries for the Island Cup we have the Watersnake, owner Sir Ernest Scrivener. He will sail her himself, that is certain. It is equally certain that he has Madge on board. If I know anything of him he will not let her out of his sight. Fred, by yonder centreboard I swear that before the race is over we will win her back."

Bang! It was the signal for the competitors to line up for the great race for the world-famous Island Cup.

Of all the thousands who pressed themselves against the straining booms none realised that the race was for a prize far more precious that a mere cup of gold valued at two thousand guineas.

The Watersnake was in front, a clear hundred yards separating her from the pursuing Seamaid. All the other yachts lagged hopelessly in the rear.

Scattering the foam at their bows, the two boats rushed along the blue lane of clear water which lay between the booms. Ralph, at the wheel of Seamaid, gazed anxiously forward. Could they do it?

"Let loose the spinnaker," he commanded gruffly. "Haul on the signal halyard. Lower the keelson."

The orders were swiftly executed, and the Seamaid leaped forward with a bound. The distance between the two vessels rapidly lessened.

"Fred," said Ralph, "you must take the wheel for a time. I'm going forward to board the Watersnake."

Lord Tamerton obediently grasped the wheel, while Ralph ran forward and crept along the bowsprit. The intervening space was now very small. Bracing himself for the effort, he shot through the air and landed upon the deck of the Watersnake. The first object which met his gaze was Lady Margaret, her wrists bound, lying beside the barnacle.

Sir Ernest Scrivener uttered a horrible oath as he recognised the features of his successful rival. For an instant he loosened his grasp on the wheel. The vessel yawed in her course and he was compelled to seize the spokes again.

Before Scrivener could command his wits sufficiently to shout an order to his crew, Ralph had caught up Lady Margaret in his arms and dashed to the side of the vessel. Deprived of his skilled command, the Seamaid had dropped behind; it was impossible to leap back to her decks.

Without hesitation, Ralph dived into the water, and still supporting the now unconscious form of Lady Margaret, swam rapidly towards the yacht. Two minutes later he was gripping the wheel and concentrating all his immense will power upon the task of winning the race.

Inch by inch the Seamaid crept up to her rival. Despite all Scrivener's efforts, the gap grew less and less.

And now the winning post was close at hand. Could it be done? Could it be done? The frantic spectators behind the boom shouted themselves hoarse. Lord Tamerton bit his thumbs till the blood ran.

Nearer drew the Seamaid. Nearer and nearer. Nearer still. At the critical moment, Ralph, with a mighty effort, pushed down the wheel.

A bare three inches parted the Watersnake from the winning post when the slight shudder ran through her which told that the prow of the Seamaid had touched her stern. The bump had been made; the race was won.

Ralph Wonderson stood with the magnificent Island Cup in his band, filled to the brim with bubbling champagne.

"To the restoration of the fortunes of the house of Tamerton," he said as he raised it to his lips.



The Turkey Buzzard (to the Sea Eagle). "You may call yourself a Turkey Buzzard if you like, but they'll still know you by your white feather."



["The week-end was dull and much rain fell, but this did not spoil the visitors' pleasure. The sight of the sea in a turbulent mood was a great attraction."—Seaside note in daily paper.]

has rained for a week down at Shrimpton;
 * 'Tis zero or less in the shade;

You can paddle your feet in the principal street
 * And bathe on the stony parade;

But still on our holiday pleasures
 * No thoughts of discomfort intrude,

As we whisper, "This sight is a bit of all right,"
 * For the sea's in a turbulent mood.

There's nobody harks to the pierrots;
 * For music we don't care a straw;

And the "comic" in vain chants the usual strain
 * Concerning his mother-in-law.

Unbought are the beach's bananas;
 * Our souls are all far above food;

Not a man of us dreams of consuming ice-creams
 * When the sea 's in a turbulent mood.

You may prate of the fervour of Phoebus
 * Of days that are calm and serene,

When a tint as of teak is imposed on the cheek
 * That is commonly pallid (when clean):

But we have a taste that's æsthetic;
 * Mere sunshine seems vulgar and crude,

As we gather to gaze with artistic amaze
 * On the sea in a turbulent mood.

 The Beekeepers' Record, referring to the photograph of a group of prominent beekeepers, says:—"Mr. Dadant's well-known features are easily spotted." We are sorry, but a little cold cream will sometimes do wonders.