"Poor little Pete," she exclaimed softly. "It's tough. But it can't be helped."
Gregory alone heard her words.
"It sure is," he said, feeling that the words were wholly inadequate. "And I'm mighty sorry," he added.
The girl started. "I guess I was thinking aloud," she said. "I didn't know you heard." She set her lips together. "It's all in the game, I know," she went on, "but no one but me knows how I hate to lose the little Petrel."
When they picked up the Curlew the fitful wind died suddenly and the air grew heavy with moisture. The white clouds which scurried across the face of the heavens dropped lower and massing themselves together obscured the stars. Piloting the Pelican and her tow safely to the high seas, the girl relinquished the wheel to Johnson with a sigh of relief.
"I'll rustle something to eat, Bill," she said. "We'll stand two-hour watches. I'll take her next. I want to see if there is anything I can do for Tom. I'll be in the cabin. Call me if you sight anything or it gets thicker."
Turning to Gregory, she exclaimed: "The next thing is to eat. I'm starved myself, and I'll bet you're worse."
Repairing to the cabin where the big fisherman was already asleep on the bunk, they ate their first real meal of the day in silence. There was much that they could have talked about, but one does not follow the sea long without learning that opportunities to eat are sometimes golden, and not lightly to be passed over or interfered with by conversation. It was not until the last morsel of food had been consumed, therefore, that Gregory made an effort to voice his thoughts.