"The Vanderdykes are all right," said Franklin, with queer enthusiasm. He pulled off his flannel coat. "Put this on."
"No, no."
"Put this on."
"I won't put it on."
He wasted no further words. He took first one soft damp arm and then the other, drew the sleeves over them, bent down and buttoned the coat up.
"Oh, that's lovely," she said; "as warm as a radiator. But what about you?"
"That's all right. Listen again. When McLeod finds that we don't get back he'll probably send off the big launch to hunt us up. The only way I can give them a line is to keep shouting. Very likely, giving me credit for being less a confounded fool than I am, he'll imagine two things,—either that I got off before the fog lowered and am able to fake the engine if anything happens to it, or that, seeing the fog coming over, I decided to stay on the island, in which case it would be possible for him to feel his way to land and pick us off. As it is, there's no compass aboard and I've no means of telling which way we're drifting, and if the fog lasts all night,—puzzle, find the yacht. There you have the worst and the best of it. Listen!"
"What is it?"
He put his hands up to his mouth and raised a tremendous shout. "Ahoy,—Galatea, ahoy, ahoy!"
There was no answer. The sound seemed to fall dead, as though up against a wall.