The dory, built for rough work in the open sea, did not actually ship the wave, for her high and peculiarly built bow and stern were intended to meet just such emergencies, but there was a heavy storm brewing, and the wind whipped enough water off the top of the big wave to make three or four inches in the bottom of the craft.
“Think we can make the inlet, Frank?” inquired Ned Arden rather anxiously, as he straightened up, for now that the one big wave had been successfully coped with, there would be a short period of calm in the turmoil of the sea.
“Sure we’ll make it!” asserted Frank, as he shifted the wheel slightly to meet another comber, though not so large as the former one. “Of course we’ll make it. But I don’t mind admitting that I wish we were in the bay right now. The storm broke sooner than I thought it would.”
“But we’ve got a good boat,” Ned remarked, as he made a slight adjustment to the oil cups, to feed a little more of the lubricant to the toiling motor, which was enclosed in a sort of box amidships of the dory. Ned replaced the cover of the motor compartment and braced himself on a locker seat near his brother.
“Yes, a fine boat,” agreed Frank. “She’ll weather a worse storm than this.”
“Not worse than this is going to be,” insisted Ned, as he looked up at the gray and leaden sky above them. The strong wind was sweeping along, snipping off patches of salty spray from the tops of the waves, sending it with stinging force into the faces of the two boys. Overhead masses of black clouds scudded across the general gray surface of the sky. As yet there had been no rain, but Frank and Ned Arden were as wet from the spray as though there were a veritable downpour.
“Well, I’d trust this tub almost anywhere,” Frank said, rising slightly to peer ahead that he might see where to steer, for the atmosphere was thickening as the storm developed more and more. “She’s proved what she can do, Ned, and we don’t need to be afraid as long as she holds together and the motor keeps working.”
“That’s the only trouble,” Ned replied; “the motor. If she goes back on us and we lose headway, we’ll get into the trough of the sea, and then it will be all up with us,” and he laughed grimly.
“Don’t borrow trouble,” advised the elder lad. “The motor isn’t going back on us. She isn’t that kind.”
“One cylinder missed a couple of times, though.”