when the people in central park learned that one of the
toy sailboats was being steered by a mouse in a sailor suit, they all came running. soon the shores of the pond were so crowded that a policeman was sent from headquarters to announce that everybody would have to stop pushing, but nobody did. people in new york like to push each other. the most excited person of all was the boy who owned the lillian b. womrath. he was a fat, sulky boy of twelve, named leroy. he wore a blue serge suit and a white necktie stained with orange juice.
“come back here!” he called to stuart. “come back here and get on my boat. i want you to steer my boat. i will pay you five dollars a week and you can have every thursday afternoon off and a radio in your room.”
“i thank you for your kind offer,” replied stuart, “but i am happy aboard the wasp— happier than i have ever been before in all my life.” and with that he spun the wheel over smartly and headed his schooner down toward the starting line, where leroy was turning his boat around by poking it with a long stick, ready for the start of the race.
“i’ll be the referee,” said a man in a bright green suit. “is the wasp ready?”
“ready, sir!” shouted stuart, touching his hat.
“is the lillian b. womrath ready?” asked the referee.
“sure, i’m ready,” said leroy.
“to the north end of the pond and back again!” shouted the referee. “on your mark, get set, go!” “go!” cried the people along the shore. “go!” cried the owner of the wasp. “go!” yelled the policeman.
and away went the two boats for the north end of the pond, while the seagulls wheeled and cried overhead and the taxicabs tooted and honked from seventy-second street and the west wind (which had come halfway across america to get to central park) sang and whistled in the rigging and blew spray across the decks, stinging stuart’s cheeks with tiny fragments of flying peanut shell tossed up from the foamy deep. “this is the life for me!” stuart murmured to himself. “what a ship! what a day! what a race!”
before the two boats had gone many feet, however, an accident happened on shore. the people were pushing each other harder and harder in their eagerness to see the sport, and although they really didn’t mean to, they pushed the policeman so hard they pushed him right off the concrete wall and into the pond. he hit the water in a sitting position, and got wet clear up to the third button of his jacket. he was soaked.
this particular policeman was not only a big, heavy man, but he had just eaten a big, heavy meal, and the wave he made went curling outward, cresting and billowing, upsetting all manner of small craft and causing every owner of a boat on the pond to scream with delight and consternation.
when stuart saw the great wave approaching he jumped for the rigging, but he was too late. towering above the wasp like a mountain, the wave came crashing and piling along the deck, caught stuart up and swept him over the side and into the water, where everybody supposed he would drown. stuart had no intention of drowning. he kicked hard with his feet, and thrashed hard with his tail, and in a minute or two he climbed back aboard the schooner, cold and wet but quite unharmed. as he took his place at the helm, he could hear people cheering for him and calling, “atta mouse, stuart! atta mouse!” he looked over and saw that the wave had capsized the lillian b. womrath but that she had righted herself and was sailing on her course, close by. and she stayed close alongside till both boats reached the north end of the pond. here stuart put the wasp about and leroy turned the lillian around with his stick, and away the two boats went for the finish line.
“this race isn’t over yet,” thought stuart.
the first warning he had that there was trouble ahead came when he glanced into the wasp’s cabin and observed that the barometer had fallen sharply. that can mean only one thing at sea—dirty weather. suddenly a dark cloud swept across the sun, blotting it out and leaving the earth in shadow. stuart shivered in his wet clothes. he turned up his sailor blouse closer around his neck, and when he spied the wasp’s owner among the crowd on shore he waved his hat and called out:
“dirty weather ahead, sir! wind backing into the south-west, seas confused, glass falling.”
“never mind the weather!” cried the owner.
“watch out for flotsam dead ahead!”
stuart peered ahead into the gathering storm, but saw nothing except gray waves with white crests. the world seemed cold and ominous. stuart glanced behind him. there came the sloop, boiling along fast, rolling up a bow wave and gaining steadily.
“look out, stuart! look out where you’re going!”
stuart strained his eyes, and suddenly, dead ahead, right in the path of the wasp, he saw an enormous paper bag looming up on the surface of the pond. the bag was empty and riding high, its open end gaping wide like the mouth of a cave.
stuart spun the wheel over but it was too late: the wasp drove her bowsprit straight into the bag andwitha fearful whooosh the schooner slowed down and came up into the wind with all sails flapping. just at this moment stuart heard a splintering crash, saw the bow of the lillian plow through his rigging, and felt the whole ship tremble from stem to stern with the force of the collision.
“a collision!” shouted the crowd on shore.
in a jiffy the two boats were in a terrible tangle. little boys on shore screamed and danced up and down. meanwhile the paper bag sprang a leak and began to fill.
the wasp couldn’t move because of the bag. the lillian b. womrath couldn’t move because her nose was stuck in the wasp’s rigging.
waving his arms, stuart ran forward and fired off his gun. then he heard, above the other voices on shore, the voice of the owner of the wasp yelling directions and telling him what to do.
“stuart! stuart! down jib! down staysail!”
stuart jumped for the halyards, and the jib and the forestaysail came rippling down.
“cut away all paper bags!” roared the owner.
stuart whipped out his pocketknife and slashed away bravely at the soggy bag until he had the deck cleared.
“now back your foresail and give her a full!” screamed the owner of the wasp.
stuart grabbed the foresail boom and pulled with all his might. slowly the schooner paid off and began to gather headway. and as she heeled over to the breeze she rolled her rail out from under the lillian’s nose, shook herself free, and stood away to the southard. a loud cheer went up from the bank. stuart sprang to the wheel and answered it. then he looked back, and to his great joy he perceived that the lillian had gone off in a wild direction and was yawing all over the pond.
straight and true sailed the wasp, with stuart at the helm. after she had crossed the finish line, stuart brought her alongside the wall, and was taken ashore and highly praised for his fine seamanship and daring. the owner was delighted and said it was the happiest day of his life. he introduced himself to stuart, said that in private life he was dr. paul carey, a surgeon-dentist. he said model boats were his hobby and that he would be delighted to have stuart take command of his vessel at any time. everybody shook hands with stuart—everybody, that is, except the policeman, who was too wet and mad to shake hands with a mouse.
when stuart got home that night, his brother george asked him where he had been all day.
“oh, knocking around town,” replied stuart.
