"I see that, Jacob. Hadn't you better throw her over a point or two?"
"I'll throw her over all she'll stand," answered Jacob Ropes, as he moved the handles of the brass-bound and highly polished steering wheel of the yacht. "Don't you think we had better lower the mainsail?"
"I think a couple of reefs will be enough—for the present," replied Dick Wilbur. "We can get the canvas in on the run when it freshens up."
At this old Jacob Ropes shook his head doubtfully, but as Dick Wilbur was commonly looked upon as the leader in the present outing, he said nothing in opposition. Both Dick Wilbur and Bob Hobart sprang to the halyards, and soon the mainsail was set to the former's satisfaction. The topsail had already been stowed away, and now the jib was likewise made safe.
The Dashaway had been cruising off the shore of the Carolinas for the best part of a week. She was as trim and substantial a yacht as one could meet anywhere, and had been built especially for Dick Wilbur's uncle by a firm of ship constructors who made a specialty of this class of work. She was long and narrow—yet not too narrow for safety—and while her mast was a towering one, the ballast of lead in her keel was sufficient to render her sailing qualities good even in a heavy blow.
