“That’s got a long gray beard on it,” grunted Bruce, with an air of disgust.
The wind, chill and raw, began to blow. Black clouds were piling up in the west, and the sun was shut out. This came so suddenly that the boys were startled.
“Jove!” cried Hodge. “There’s a storm coming!”
“Remember what the old fellow on the tug said when we came out?” exclaimed Diamond. “He warned us.”
“That’s so!”
Frank was on his feet taking a survey of the sea and sky.
“If we want to get back to New Haven to-night we’d better get a hustle on,” he declared.
Then there was a hasty gathering of such things as they wished to carry back and a hurrying down to the Jolly Sport. They clambered on board, stowed things away, cast off from the pier, ran up the sails, and made the first tack out to sea.
The sky became dark and overcast. Down near New York somewhere great rollers started and seemed to gather force and size as they surged along the sound.
The spray began to fly as the catboat plunged from roller to roller, and the boys saw a prospect of getting “good and wet.”