The barge shuddered as another solid wave poured over the bulwark and struck the cabin. The water seeping in under the door was coming faster now.
“As long as this thing is still afloat,” Sandy repeated, and shrugged. “That might not be long at this rate.”
“But if we’re really in trouble,” Ken said, “the barge up ahead will be able to tell—now that it’s getting light.”
“They may be able to tell,” Sandy agreed, “though I doubt if they can even see us in this weather. But there’s not much they can do about it except cut our towline if it looks as if this tub were really going down.”
“Would they do that?” Ken sounded incredulous.
“What else could they do?” Sandy asked. “You couldn’t expect them to hold on and be carried down with us.”
Ken swallowed. “We could always go overboard—with something to hang on to. Any piece of wood—”
“Sure,” Sandy said. “And how long do you think we’d last in this kind of a sea—even with something to keep us afloat—when we’re trussed up like this?”
“You mean,” Ken said slowly, “that unless we get that pump going there’s really a chance that—?”
Sandy didn’t wait for him to finish. “That’s just what I mean. The more water she ships,” he explained carefully, in a colorless voice, “the deeper she rides. And the deeper she rides, the more water she takes. It’s what’s known as a vicious circle.”