“Pull on,” said the cox. “So—steady, stroke—pull, bow—easy.”
The boat scraped alongside a low craft, and cox held on to a rope ladder.
“How do you feel?” asked stroke, turning his head.
“Pretty well baked,” said Frank; “and you?”
“I’m worked to a cast-iron finish. Give me the painter—thanks. Now, up you go.”
Without more ado, Frank climbed up the ladder to a narrow deck, where he stood holding to a light rail. The two men were quickly by his side, one of them securing the boat.
“This way.”
They went forward to a deck-house, and descended a companion-way to a small saloon, where one of them struck a match, and lit a suspended lamp.
“Let’s have a look at you!” and the man who had pulled stroke, standing himself in the shade, threw the light full on Frank’s face, while the second man closed the door and stood with his back to it.
“That will do.”