Sandy grinned faintly. “In about three days, maybe—if they were well boiled first, to tenderize them.”
“But there must be—” Ken broke off. “Listen!”
“Listen to what?”
“The pump’s not running!”
Sandy concentrated, his head nodding slowly. The reassuring chug of the gasoline engine was no longer audible.
“How long ago do you think it happened?” Sandy asked quickly.
“I don’t know. I just noticed it.”
Sandy’s eyes sought the clock.
“Almost eight,” he muttered. A glance at the window told him that the hour was correct. The grayness outside would have been daylight if the weather were less stormy. “We’re probably pretty well out to sea,” Sandy said. “So the weather will be getting worse, if anything. A while ago we were afraid they’d turn back. Now....” His voice sank to a whisper.
“We’re not licked yet,” Ken said stubbornly. “We can’t be—not as long as this thing is still afloat and we’re still conscious.”