“Of course I am—what I need is exercise—I’m freezing!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry—here—turn over the wheel, skipper.”
Dorothy grabbed the spokes and Bill hastily slipped into his rubber coat and adjusted the life belt over it.
“How are we headed?” she inquired. “I can’t see the compass without a light.”
“Straight for shore, and we’ll be lucky if the old tub stays afloat that long. The whole Atlantic Ocean’s pouring in through her seams.”
“Maybe the pump would be better?”
“No-sir: not that pump. I’ve seen it!”
“Mmm. That’s why I chose the bucket. Say, I hope you won’t get a chill.”
“I’ll hope with you,” returned Bill and kept his remaining breath for his labors.
A heavy wave broke against the Mary Jane’s bow and swept them both with a deluge of water. Dorothy paid off the boat’s head half a point.