"What does he say?" Pat asked anxiously.
"He says there's no more wood," said Bones. "The horrid old bunkers are empty, an' we're at the mercy of the tempest."
"Oh, Bones!" she cried, in consternation.
But Bones had recovered.
"What about swimmin' to shore with a line?" he said. "It can't be more than ten miles!"
It was Ali Abid who prevented the drastic step.
"Sir," he said, "the subject on such occasions should act with deliberate reserve. Proximity of land presupposes research. The subject should assist rather than retard research by passivity of action, easy respiration, and general normality of temperature."
"Which means, dear old Miss Hamilton, that you've got to keep your wool on," explained Bones.
What might have happened is not to be recorded, for at that precise moment the s.s. Paretta came barging up over the horizon.
There was still steam in the Wiggle's little boiler, and one log of wood to keep it at pressure.