And now came the captains of the Albacore, Snark and Bonita.

“You won the race fairly and squarely,” said the former, shaking Rob’s hand.  “I presume, commodore, the time was taken?”

“It has been,” replied that official.  “The Flying Fish wins by one minute and four and seven hundredths seconds.”

More cheers greeted this announcement, mingled with laughter and some sympathy, as the club launch, towing the capsized hydroplane, puffed up to the float.  From the launch emerged three crestfallen figures with dripping garments.  But wet as he was, Jack Curtiss was not going to surrender the race without a protest.

“A foul!  We claim a foul!  The Flying Fish fouled us!” he shouted.

“My dear young man,” calmly replied the commodore, “I was watching you every foot of the way through binoculars, and I should rather say that you fouled the Flying Fish.  Anyhow, you should have better sense than to try to shave round that turn so closely.”

More mortified, and angrier than ever, Jack strode off to put on dry clothes, followed by his equally chagrined companions, who, however, had sense enough now not to make any protests.  They knew well enough that Jack, in his hurry to grab the prize, had attempted a foolish and dangerous thing which had cost them the race.

“A great race, a great race,” said Mr. Blake, as the boys, followed by the crowd, entered the club house, where the awards were to be distributed.  “You boys certainly covered yourselves with glory,” he went on.

“Yes, and here is your reward.  I hope it will stimulate you to put up a fine defense for it next year,” said Commodore Wingate, handing to the elated boys a fine engraved silver cup, the trophy of the Hampton Yacht Club.

“Get up and make a speech!” shouted some one.

The boys felt inclined to run for it.

“Go ahead!  Make some sort of a talk,” urged Rob, helping Tubby on to the platform from which the prizes had been handed out.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” puffed the stout youth, “we want to thank you for your congratulations and thank the club for the fine cup.  Er—­er—­er—­we thank you.”

And having made what was perhaps quite as good a speech as some of his elders’, Tubby stepped down amid loud and prolonged cheering.

Up in the dressing room Jack and his cronies, changing into other, garments, heard the sounds of applause.

“It’s high time something was done,” said Bill, as he gazed from a window at several of the yacht club attendants bailing out the unlucky hydroplane.  “Those young beggars will be owning the town next.”

CHAPTER XIV

THE EAGLES IN CAMP

The next few days were full of excitement and preparation for the Boy Scouts.  Their headquarters resounded all day to the tramp of feet, and the Manual of Instructions was consulted day and night.  The official tents had arrived, and every boy in the Patrol was eager for the time to arrive to put them up.  So much so that two or three confessed that they could hardly sleep at night in their impatience for the hour when the embarkation for Topsail Island was to take place.