"But this storm, sir!" Nelson avoided Curtis' friendly eyes and slipped out from under his arm. "It's got me worried. Quartering wind of undetermined force, variable and gusty. There's a chop to the sea—as if from unestimated currents among the islets. No chance to check by observation, and now there is a chance—look at me!"
He held out his hands. They were shaking as if he had the chills.
"You say there is a chance?" Curtis asked. "Stars out?"
"As if by providence, sir, there's a clear patch. I'm wondering—" His voice trailed off, but his eyes swung toward the gleaming sextant on the rack.
Commander Curtis shrugged good-naturedly and reached for the instrument. "Not that I've lost confidence in you, Nels, but just because you asked for it!"
Curtis donned his slicker and went outside, sextant in hand. In a few minutes he returned and handed Nelson a sheet of paper with figures underlined heavily.
"Here's what I make it," the commander told his navigating officer. "Bet you're not off appreciably."
Nelson stared at the computations with shaking head. Then he mutely held up his own.
Curtis stared, frowned, grabbed his own sheet again. "Any time I'm that far off old Figure-'em Nelson's estimate, I'm checking back," he declared, frowning at the two papers and hastily rechecking his own figures.