“Oh, Will, I’m so frightened!” wailed Mrs. Blake. “I know we’ll go to the bottom!”
“Nonsense!” answered her husband. “I told you we’d better stay below.”
“It’s more comfortable, at any rate,” said Tom, and he helped Mr. Blake assist his wife to their stateroom.
Tom lost no time in putting on dry garments, and over them he put a suit of oilskins, that would keep out the wet. Thus equipped he started for the deck again.
“Now that I’m up I may as well stay and see the storm out,” Tom reflected. “If it grows worse I don’t want to be below, anyhow. I’ll have more chance in the open.”
For a moment his heart misgave him, as he thought of the storm through which the ship on which his father and mother were sailing had gone.
“I do hope the Silver Star isn’t wrecked,” mused Tom. “That would upset all my plans. But pshaw! It won’t happen.”
He passed one of the sailors whom he knew.
“What do you think of it?” asked Tom.
The man paused for a moment before replying. Then, looking to see that no one overheard him, the man answered: