“I can see so little of it through the fog,” Cal provokingly replied, “that I am really unable to form an intelligent opinion of it. What I do see is that you haven’t begun to make our shelter yet. In my opinion it would be well to do so, if only to keep the chess board dry while a game is in progress. Moreover, I have an interesting book or two wrapped up in my oilskins, and if we are doomed to remain here over night—”
“You don’t think then that—”
“Frankly, Larry, I don’t know anything about it. Neither do you, and neither does anybody else. We’re in a very wet fog bank. We’ve got to stay where we are till the weather changes. Don’t you think our wisest course is to make ourselves as comfortable and keep ourselves as cheerful as we can while it lasts.”
“Yes, of course, but it’s pretty hard you know to—”
“Not half as hard as chopping wood and ‘toting’ it in from the woods over there, and that is what Tom and I are going to do after dinner as our contribution to the general comfort. You’ll find yourself feeling a great deal better if you busy yourself making a really comfortable shelter while we’re at the other job. It may come on to rain torrents this afternoon, and of course we won’t leave here in the boat if it does.”
“That will do, Cal. I’m convinced, and I’m a trifle ashamed of myself besides. I promise not to worry any more. I decree that we shall not leave port in a rain storm, and unless the weather conditions become favorable before four o’clock this afternoon we’ll not leave here any how until to-morrow.”
XVII
THE OBLIGATION OF A GENTLEMAN