“I think not.”
“Then it’s Brookville for us.”
“Yes, quick as you can make it, Bill.”
The storm had somewhat subsided. The Beulah struck a straight course shorewards. Tom, glancing through the cabin window, observed that the lady passengers grouped there seemed quieted down and coherent.
The bulky man passenger with the life preservers had crawled to the shelter of the stern platform, and, wedging himself in between two rods, only occasionally shouted out some mad threat of a suit against the steamship company.
The dock at Brookville was crowded by residents of the little town as the Beulah drove into comparatively smooth water in the coaling slip. Men with lanterns, and some women too, had braved the rain and wind, alarmed, and anxious to be helpful when the rumor had spread that a steamer was aground on Garvey Rocks.
Tom expressed a great sigh of relief as willing hands caught the cable he threw to the dock. He shut off the power, and as he passed Bill, grim and business-like at his post of duty, he bestowed a hearty smack between the shoulders.
“Good boy!” he cried exuberantly.
Bill chuckled.
“Mean that?” he propounded.