“Well, I’m glad he’s getting better.” Mr. Racer once more tried to read the paper, but gave it up.
“You’re nervous,” said his wife, as he tossed it aside.
“Yes, I am. Nothing is worse than sitting still, and waiting—waiting for something to happen.
“Oh, Dick! I’m sure you don’t want anything to happen!”
“Of course not. But I don’t like this weather.”
Paul came in at that moment. The glow of health was beginning to reappear in his pale cheeks.
“Well?” asked Mr. Racer quickly.
“They’re not in sight,” answered the lad who did not know who he was. “And Captain Trent says a bad storm is brewing.”
“That settles it!” exclaimed Mr. Racer. He started up and took down an old overcoat and hat.
“Where are you going?” asked his wife in alarm.