“This is mutiny!” cried Bob.
“That’s a pretty hard name for it, Bob. I’ve been in ships, man and boy, for thirty years, and this is the first time any one ever accused me of mutiny. We just think we know what ought to be done and are goin’ ahead and doin’ it. You’ll be able to tell the cap’n, when you next see him, that you couldn’t help yourself. Speake, Clackett, and me are banking on it that the cap’n’ll say we did just right.”
This line of reasoning surprised Bob. For a moment he was silent, turning it over in his mind.
“I can hardly believe this of you, Gaines,” said the young motorist finally. “How are you running the ship?”
“We’re short-handed, and that’s a fact; still, we’re making shift to get along. We’re running on the surface, so Clackett don’t have anything to do in the tank room, and he’s running the engine.”
“Who’s doing the steering?”
“The don’s doing that. He knows the coast, he says, and he seems to be right handy with the wheel. But I’m watchin’ to see that he don’t make any flukes.”
“You’ll have us on the rocks first thing you know!” cried Bob. “Put her about and go-back to Belize.”
“You might just as well understand, Bob,” answered Gaines firmly, “that we’ve started on this business and we’re going to see it through. We want your good will—and we think you’ll give it to us before we’re done with this cruise. It’s a short cruise, anyhow, and we ought to be back at Belize by to-morrow night.”