"Fog!" Larry said briefly.
There it was—like a blanket—and to their alarmed senses, almost as smothering.
"Suppose—suppose we run into something!" stammered Margy fearfully.
"Well, suppose we don't!" Larry retorted cheerfully. "I don't think there's much danger and, if you ask me, I should say the most important thing to think about is, 'what can we have to eat?' If you're as hungry as I am, you'll be opening those boxes in a minute or two. But better save a snack, in case we have to drift till breakfast time."
It seemed to the older children that Larry's tone sounded a bit forced, and he did not change his position at the tiller when they opened the lunch boxes. On his earnest advice, they ate lightly, though Ward in particular was hungry and said so.
"Never did believe in overeating," said Larry grimly. He had eaten one sandwich, and now gave them each a small cupful of water.
"What time is it?" asked Fred presently, wishing that he could stop thinking about the hot clam chowder their mothers always prepared if the night turned cool.
"Ten after six," Larry replied, glancing at his watch. "Looks as if we'll have to make a night of it."
"But—but—stay out on the ocean all night?" quavered Margy. "Without any beds or anything?"