Ruth stood at the wheel with more apparent calmness than any of them. Her hair had whipped out of its fastenings and streamed over her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks aglow.
Helen, staring at her, suddenly realized that this was the old Ruth Fielding. Her chum had not looked so much alive, so thoroughly competent and ready for anything, before for weeks.
“Why—why, Ruthie!” Helen murmured, “I believe you like this.”
Her chum did not hear the words, but she suddenly flashed Helen a brilliant smile. “Keep up your pluck, child!” she shouted. “We’ll come out all right.”
Again the Stazy staggered under the side swipe of a big wave.
“Ye-ow!” yelped Tom in the stern, almost diving overboard.
“Steady!” shouted Skipper Gordon, excitedly.
“Steady she is, Captain!” rejoined Ruth Fielding, and actually laughed.
“How can you, Ruth?” complained Jennie, clinging to Henri Marchand. “And when we are about to drown.”
“Weeping will not save us,” flung back Ruth.