“We might drive nails with stones,” suggested Dick.
“We might if we had one of your Massachusetts quarries to furnish the stones. But on all this coast there isn’t a rock or a stone as big as a filbert. No, we have no tools and no substitutes for tools.”
“Yes,” growled Cal, who alone was lying down with closed eyes in an endeavor to get to sleep, “and you fellows are doing all you can to wear out the strength we need for the emergency by profitless chatter, when we ought to be sleeping and refreshing ourselves to meet conditions as they arise. Don’t you see the folly of that? Don’t you realize that you aren’t bettering things, but making them worse?
“The very worst preparation for meeting difficulties is to fall into a panic about them. Besides, there’s no occasion for panic or for melancholy brooding; Dunbar may turn up with the dory safe and sound. If he doesn’t, I grant you we’ll have some problems to wrestle with and we’ll need the clearest heads we can keep on our shoulders. You’re doing all you can to muddle them.”
“But, Cal, it is necessary to face this situation and think of ways in which—”
“That’s precisely what you’re not doing. Not one of you has offered a single suggestion that is worth while. Besides, this isn’t the time for that. Troubles always look worse at night than by daylight. The best we can do now is to make up our minds to two things.”
“What are they, Cal?”
“First, that if we’re in a hole, we’ll find some way of getting out of it, and, second, that it is high time to go to sleep.”
“Have you thought of any plans, Cal?”