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 *ward better than the other, and that the other reaches and runs faster than her rival? Nobody has yet offered a satisfactory explanation of this peculiar state of affairs, which yachtsmen know to exist in all classes of one design.

But here we are, aboard the Phantom thirty minutes before gunfire. Our sportsmanlike owner and our seamanlike skipper are well qualified for the coming strife. They know the course like their A, B, C. They are acquainted with every tide-rip and current likely to be encountered. The sailing directions are explicit. The crew, amateur and professional, are old hands at the business, and if the Phantom doesn't win the cup and the side bet from the Ghost, why, all hands will be down in the dumps at the end of the race.

But there is no mention of that dastard word, defeat. Owner and captain and crew have an abiding confidence in the yacht and in each other, and all hands are imbued with enthusiasm and zeal. This is apparent in every animated glance, in each cheery "Aye, aye, sir," in response to orders, and in every active movement of body and limb.

All hands have been through the mill before and are accustomed to pull together. The skipper knows the "hang" of the boat; he fully understands how to trim sail to the best advantage—just how much sheet to give to induce the highest rate of speed. The boat herself is balanced like a druggist's scales, and