“Well, we’ve got it located,” said the grimy engineer, smiling good-naturedly. “The trouble is on this end of the propeller shaft. A piece of metal is lodged between the cogs, and we’ve been unable so far to get it out. It’s only a question of time, though. Bill is hammering away with a cold chisel and something is bound to give ’way soon.”
“Can we run into the city in the storm, Sharley, or will it be better to wait till it clears?”
“Well, it’s pretty misty out, and hard to see the lights of other boats, but we’ll chance it if you say so, sir.”
“I’ll think it over. Let me know when the engine is fixed and we’ll decide what is best to do. Come, Sterling; let’s go on deck for a breath of air.”
Donning heavy ulsters, they were soon on the slippery deck of the yacht, the storm beating in their faces. The man in the wheelhouse, encased in heavy oilskins, was nodding in the shelter of his little quarters. He started up as Mr. Ronald and his friend came slipping along the deck.
“A bad night, sir, but the storm’s going down,” he remarked, pleasantly.
“The engines will soon be fixed, Donnelly, and if it’s let up sufficiently we may try to make the city at once. Otherwise we will wait till daylight.”
“Yes, sir; all right, sir,” and the man bowed as Mr. Ronald and Dr. Sterling passed on.
In the meantime, Dorothy and Molly lay in their bunks, talking on various subjects, but mostly of the coming concert. Dorothy, of course, was worried, and was trying to borrow trouble by declaring the storm would keep up all the following day, and that she might be forced to miss the concert altogether—an idea which Molly “pooh-poohed” in vigorous terms.