“Yes. Are we near port?”
“Within twenty miles.”
“How fast are we going?”
“How slow, you mean? The wind is against us—we are not making more than four knots an hour.”
“At that rate, we shall not make Southampton in less than five hours. Let me see,” said Dick, consulting his watch,—“it is now ten o’clock. We shall not, at this rate, get in before three.”
“No, sir; but you’ll have some breakfast now?”
“Thanks, yes! it will help to pass the time, at least.”
The master beckoned a boy, and sent a message to the steward.
And, in half an hour afterwards the appetizing breakfast of the yacht was served; and Dick did his usual justice to the meal.
Afterwards he killed the time as well as he could by reading a little, talking a little, and smoking a little.