“I think we had better make Brookville and get the boat there, whatever it is, in service.”
“You’re the boss, Tom,” said Bill simply.
Tom made his way back to his seat. Soon the launch described a circle, which, masterly as was the manœuvre, sent the craft careening at a perilous angle. Then they headed straight for shore.
They came alongside a steam tug just through coaling at the dock at Brookville. The boat did not have steam up, and was moored safely for the night. Men were moving about the deck with lanterns, making things trim and safe. Tom had caught a grapnel on the rail of the tug and secured it. Then he swung aboard the tug.
He ran up to a man arrayed like himself in foul weather costume, who stood steadying himself at a hawser post, and who was giving orders to the others. The man stared strangely at Tom’s sudden appearance.
“Captain,” shot out Tom tersely.
“That’s me. Where did you come from? Oh, I see,” and he caught sight of the outlines of the launch. “What’s the trouble?”
Tom briefly, rapidly explained the situation. In an instant he realized that he was fortunate in finding just the kind of a man he needed. The tug captain listened to him in breathless interest. When Tom had concluded he rested his hand on his shoulder in a friendly way.
“You’re a good one, lad, whoever you are,” he said. “Sorry we’re shut down, but we’ll set about steaming up in a jiffy. Garvey Rocks, you, said?”
“Yes, sir—know them?”