“He’s still there,” said the old sailor, as if there could be any doubt of it with the way the boat was speeding through the water. “I can see him, almost on the surface. He’s going a lively clip.”
Bob got up from where he had been seated and began rummaging about in the locker.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned.
“I’m hungry,” announced Chunky. “Got to have something to eat.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Sam put in. “I didn’t have much dinner myself, and salt air always makes me have an appetite.”
Thus finding an ally, Bob proceeded to get out the victuals. He lighted the gasolene stove and made coffee, which with some sandwiches and canned stuff, provided a meal that made up in zest what it lacked in quality.
“I’ll bet it’s the first time this whale ever towed a dinner party,” said Jerry between bites.
“I hope it’ll be the last,” murmured Sam. “I want to get my lance into him. There’s a pot of money in it, even if he isn’t a spermer. We can land him on the beach and charge ten cents admission to see him, though it’s not in my line.”
It was about ten minutes later when Jerry, glancing at the line, noticed it was slack. He called Sam’s attention to it.
“He’s up to some trick,” the old sailor remarked, as he peered anxiously forward. “Going to sound, or maybe he’s headed this way.”