“I want to tell you lads something,” said he in a low voice.
“What is it?” asked Chet.
“If I were you boys, I’d not walk forward for the present,” went on Ben Haven. “Some of the sailors are down on you for killing those geese. Better keep out of their way until we reach port—which will be tomorrow morning.”
“Why, do you think they’d try to—to harm us?” asked Chet.
“They might—if matters get worse with the ship. Some sailors are awfully headstrong when they get frightened.”
Chet and Andy promised to heed the warning, although both were inclined to laugh at it. They kept away from the forecastle, and it was not until after supper that one of the sailors came near them. It was then reported that the steamer was leaking worse than before, and the pumps were kept going constantly.
“You boys are responsible for this,” said the sailor. He was a tall, thin individual, who rejoiced in the name of Pep Loggermore.
“What do you mean?” demanded Chet, stiffly.
“You know well enough what I mean,” growled the tar. “If we go to the bottom, there won’t be nobody to blame but you!”
“That’s nonsense,” broke in Andy. “The ice started the ship’s seams—we had nothing to do with it.”