“I wonder if he really is all right, and it is only professional jealousy between him and Professor Snodgrass, or if there is something more behind it all,” mused Ned.
His reflections were interrupted by the passing along of one of the ship’s officers, and at once several questions were fired at this individual.
“Are we still taking in water?” was the foremost inquiry.
“I am glad to say that the leak has been partly stopped,” was the answer. “It is confined to one compartment, and, if the bulkheads hold, we may not have to abandon ship.”
“I hope, most sincerely, that we do not!” Ned heard the voice of Dr. Hallet exclaim. “I want to get that field mouse!”
“Good-night!” exclaimed a doughboy. “Does he want it for his cat or himself?”
There was a laugh at this, and it served, in a measure, to relieve the nervous tension.
Hope began to spring up in hearts which had begun to lose it, and with small wonder, when the series of happenings that occurred to the Sherman is considered. Nothing but ill luck seemed to have attended her since she set out.
And so they stood waiting at the boats, ready to take to the small craft at the word of command and trust themselves to the great ocean in what, by comparison with the heaving billows, were mere cockle-shells. But the hearts of most of them were stout and strong.