“No, but we’re going to have a storm, if I’m any judge, and pretty quickly, too. We’re quite a few miles out to sea, and we’d better run to shore, I think.”
“Same here,” agreed Bob. “But say, what about grub? I can get it while you and Ned manage the Comet.”
“Ha! Ha!” laughed Jerry. “I was waiting for you to say that, Chunky. But there—don’t get riled! Of course you can get up a meal. But let it be a simple one, for we may be in the midst of a blow any minute. And we’ll need your help, now that part of our gear is out of order. So don’t fuss too much, Chunky.”
“I won’t. But I’m awful hungry!”
“Just to show that there are no hard feelings I could eat a bit myself,” added Ned. “Go to it, Bob, my boy.”
“Yes, and we’ll have to get busy ourselves, Ned,” spoke Jerry. “We’d better make everything as snug as we can, and then go up. We may get above the storm centre, but I doubt it. It looks as though it was going to be pretty general.”
The weather had indeed changed suddenly. Gray banks of clouds, fringed with ominous black, hung low on the horizon, while above the sky was a coppery-yellowish cast that seemed to indicate the coming of a great wind.
The sea, too, was heaving restlessly, as if anxious to join in the revel of the elements, and there was a low moaning sound that told of the howling gale to come.
But just at present it was calm enough—the threatening calm before the storm—and Jerry was about to take advantage of it to start toward land.