CHAPTER X
ADRIFT ON A DERELICT
"Looks to me as though we're going to have a ripsnorter for Christmas," said Eric to his friend, Homer, the day before the festive season. "If the sea gets much higher, Cookie won't have to stir the plum duff at all!"
"How's that?"
"All he's got to do is to leave the raisins and the flour and the currants and whatever else goes into the duff lying loose on a table. The old lady is kicking loose enough to mix it up all right. Doesn't she pitch!"
"Great cook you'd make," laughed the other. "I'm glad we don't have to mess from your galley. But you're right about the weather. It's all right to go hunting for derelicts, but I don't know how the deuce anybody can be expected to find one in a sea like this!"
"We might hit her," suggested Eric, cheerfully.
"You're a hopeful prophet, you are," retorted his chum. "I'm not aching to feed the fishes yet awhile."
"Well, we might bump, just the same. Then the Seminole would have a chance to hunt us as a derelict, and Van Sluyd—he's on her now, you know—would have the time of his young life."
"I don't think you need to worry about sending a message to Van Sluyd yet awhile," the other answered; "after all, the Miami is still above water."