on the coast of Maine."

"Oh, Maine!" says I. "Up there they're willin' to call a town anything
that'll get a laugh. But what's the rest of the scandal?"

It wasn't any thrillin' tale, though. Seems Mr. Robert had gone into
the yachtin' regattas as usual this last summer; but, instead of
liftin' the mugs, as he'd been in the habit of doin', he'd been beat
out by a new entry,--beat bad too. But he wouldn't be an Ellins if he
let it go at that. Not much! His first move is to find out who built
the Stingaree, and his next is to wire in an order to the same firm to
turn out a sixty-footer that'll go her just one better. Not gettin'
any straight answer to that, he sends word for the head of the yacht
works to come on at his expense. Mr. Higgins is the result.

"But the deuce of it is," says Mr. Robert, "that, while I'm convinced
he is the cleverest designer of racing yawls that we have in the whole
country, and while he admits quite cheerfully that he can improve on
this year's model, I can't get him to say positively that he will build
such a boat for me."

"Yes, I should expect that would be more'n he'd let go of all in one
day," says I.

"But, confound it all!" says Mr. Robert, "I want to know now. All I
can get out of him, though, is that he can't decide for a while. Seems
to have something or other on his mind. Now, if I knew what was
bothering him, you see, I might--well, you get the point, Torchy. I'm
going to leave it to you to find out."