Then suddenly Nan seized the bathing cap from her chum’s head, and, pushing Bess aside, began to bail frantically with the rubber head covering. The rain and spray were rapidly sinking the canoe, and to free it of the accumulation of water was their only hope.
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear, Nan!” groaned Bess, over and over.
Nan had no breath left for idle talk. She bailed out the water as fast as she could. The canoe was too water-logged already to be easily steered. The sea merely drove it on and on; providentially it did not broach to.
“Throw out the cushions!” Nan finally cried to her chum. “Throw them out, it will lighten the canoe a little.”
“But—but we’ll have to pay for them,” objected Bess, for perhaps the first time in her life becoming cautious.
“Do as I say!” commanded Nan. “What are a few cushions if we can save our lives?”
“But we can’t! We’re sure to drown!” wailed Bess.
Nan was not at all sure that this was not true. She would not, however, own up that she thought so.
“You do as I say, Bess!” she ordered. “Throw out the cushions! Never mind if we drown the next minute!”
“You—you are awful!” sobbed Bess.