“You thought you could get away from me; but you can’t,” he said, with a leer. “You’re goin’ to pay good and plenty for that auto wreck.”
“Let go of my arm!” returned Jack, and gave the fellow a shove that sent him backward against the ship’s rail. At this Ferguson became furious, and would have drawn a pistol had not the mate of the Hildegarde interposed.
“No use of fighting now,” he said. “We’ve got a better way of squaring accounts,” and he looked suggestively at Ferguson.
“All right. Just as you say,” was the surly response. “But that young cub has got to be taught a lesson, and I’m the man to teach it to him.”
This quarrel made the position of the boys more uncomfortable than ever. They moved forward while several of the sailors jeered at them. Evidently the whole crowd was against the lads, the single exception being Ira Small. The tall, lanky sailor had some work to do, and this he did without taking part in the discussion or what followed.
“Where do you suppose we are?” asked Fred, after another hour had passed and the breeze seemed to be stronger than ever.
“I think we’re somewhere off the Jersey coast,” answered Ralph. “But how far east I can’t tell. There isn’t a sign of land anywhere.”
Slowly the hours dragged by, the boys not knowing what to think of the situation.
“I wonder if we can’t get aboard the motor boat to-night,” said Randy. “Of course, we’d have to be very careful about it. But if she is tied on behind, why couldn’t we slip down on the cable, one after another, and get aboard?”