“The propeller is broken!” cried Tom.
“She’s jammed. That cape!” gasped the one-armed skipper. “Here! Tend to this till I see what can be done. Jack!” he shouted to his crew. “This way—lively, now!”
But Ruth slipped into his place before Tom could do so.
“I know how to steer, Tommy,” she declared. “And I understand the engine. Give him a hand if he needs you.”
“Oh, we’ll turn turtle!” shrieked Jennie, as the boat rolled again.
“You’ll never become a turtle, Jen,” declared Tom, plunging aft. “Turtles are dumb!”
The Stazy was slapped by a big wave, “just abaft the starboard bow,” to be real nautical, and half a ton of sea-water washed over the forward deck and spilled into the standing-room of the craft.
Henri had wisely closed the door of the cabin. The water foamed about their feet. Ruth found herself knee deep for a moment in this flood. She whirled the wheel over, trying to bring up the head of the craft to meet the next wave.
“Oh, my dear!” groaned Jennie Stone. “We are going to be drowned.”
“Drowned, your granny!” snapped Helen angrily. “Don’t be such a silly, Jennie.”