It was found that Andy’s ankle was much swollen. The other boys bathed it for him and then bound it up with a strip of the sailcloth. They performed the same services for Ira Small.
“We’re in the sick-bay, lad,” said the lanky sailor dubiously to Andy. “I reckon we’ve got to make the best of it. Howsomever, luck’s been with us so far, an’ mebby luck’ll see us through.”
Slowly the afternoon wore away. By this time all aboard the wreckage were hungry, but the most that anybody could offer was a water-soaked package of chewing gum which Andy found in a pocket of his jacket.
“I think we’ll find that too salty to chew, Andy,” said Jack. “I wouldn’t touch it. It will make you thirstier than ever.” So the water-soaked chewing gum went unused.
At last night came on. So long as it was light, everybody aboard the wreckage kept his eyes on the alert for some sign of the other three boys and for some craft that might pick them up.
“Gee, I wouldn’t care even if the old Hildegarde hove in sight,” said Randy, at last. “If we were on board that tub, we’d at least have something to eat and to drink and a place to sleep.”
“No more o’ that schooner fur me!” cried Ira Small. “I’d rather jump in the ocean than go aboard her ag’in,” and his eyes flashed angrily.
When night settled down they found themselves absolutely alone on that part of the wide ocean. Even the bits of wreckage which had surrounded them had disappeared. Nothing was to be seen on every side but the heaving waters.
“Gosh, if we ever get off of this and on dry land once more, I won’t want to look at the ocean again for years,” murmured Randy.
“I’ll be like the fellow who got seasick and said the next boat he’d take would be a Pullman car,” put in Andy, with a faint grin.