The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

Her heart was racing. She thought, I’ve just got to do it, not only to help Peter, but for Jim, too.
    That night, although she went right to sleep, her rest was interrupted by a long series of dreams in which Star Fire capsized because she stupidly hauled on the wrong line, or came in last, with everyone laughing at her vain attempts to hoist the spinnaker. But when dawn finally arrived, she felt less panicky and firmly resolved to keep her fears to herself.
    Peter had proposed that they get to the club early in order to go out for a practice sail before race time. So he picked up Trixie and Jim, who had grabbed some breakfast on the run. The other Bob-Whites would come down later.
    Peter looked up at the cloud-littered sky and re-marked, “We’ve got a good breeze today, but it’s a little out of the west, and the west wind is fickle.”
    “Is that a handicap?” Jim asked anxiously.
    No, not exactly,” Peter replied. “It’s fine when it’s blowing, but then, all of a sudden, no wind—usually just when you need it most to get across the finish line. Anyway, it’ll be good practice.”
    After Peter had parked the Icebox, they brought the sail bags over to the lawn. Trixie and Jim spread out the huge, filmy spinnaker so Peter could fold and pack it properly in a cardboard carton. He pushed the two bottom corners, or feet, of the sail into the slots cut in the box so they could quickly and easily be snapped onto the sheets.
    “It s not quite as complicated as folding a parachute, but almost.” He chuckled as he finished the job and headed for the dock, Trixie and Jim following with the sail bags.
    The club was almost deserted at this hour, and the launch wasn’t yet running, so Peter borrowed a dinghy and rowed them out to the Star Fire, which was curtsying gaily at her mooring. The sails were soon hoisted, and, after sailing up to the dock to return the dinghy, they headed east into the bay.
    “We’re running before the wind now,” Peter explained, “so we can set the spinny anytime. Are you ready to give it a try, Trix?”
    “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She climbed out of the cockpit and went forward, carrying the carton with her. She put the spinnaker pole in place on the mast, fastened the guy lines to the corners of the sail, and hoisted it. It filled almost immediately, and Trixie was so elated at her success that she forgot to take down the jib until Peter called to remind her.
    “Jeepers, I forgot all about that,” she yelled back as she hurriedly lowered the jib and left it in a neat pile on the deck ready to be hoisted again later on. She climbed back inside and, by carefully trimming the lines, kept the spinnaker well filled. Star Fire zoomed along at a merry clip, and Trixie was beginning to think that her fears had been rather silly and that the spinnaker detail was really pretty simple, after all, when suddenly the beautiful blue sail collapsed like a pricked balloon.
    “Pete!” she cried. “I've forgotten what to do. Help me!”
    “It’s okay, Trix. Don’t get all clutched up,” Peter reassured her. “Remember, I said the wind was fickle. She’s just showing you who’s boss out here today.”
    Trixie saw that he was right. The wind had died, and they were barely moving.
    “No knowing how long before the wind will be anything more than a breeze, so I guess we’d better take down the spinnaker and get back to the club, or we’ll miss the start of the race,” Peter suggested.
    Luckily, by the time the jib was again in place, the wind freshened slightly and bore them back without difficulty. As they rounded the point and came in sight of the harbor, Trixie and Jim both let out a gasp of surprise. Ail the boats they had seen earlier bobbing at their moorings now had their sails up. There were about thirty in ail.
    “Gleeps!” cried Trixie. “Are they all going to race? There’ll be a traffic jam!”
    They were near enough now to distinguish the various types of boats, and Peter explained that each kind raced in its own class. He pointed out the little catboats, called Wood Pussies, the Blue Jays, the Lightnings, and the Stars. “Hey, there’s the committee boat, and look who’s aboard. The Bob-Whites!” he yelled, waving to a large motor cruiser. “That belongs to Cap’s father. They’ll have a chance to watch the whole race. What a break!”
    At this point, a gun on the porch of the yacht club went off, and Peter told them it signaled the start of the