“No,” said Fitz stiffly, “because the Tonans never runs away.”
“That’s one for me,” said Poole, laughing. “There are times when you must run, my lad, and this is one. Hullo, they’re shaking out more canvas. It’s going to be yachting now like a race for a cup. It’s ’bout ship too.”
“Yes, by the way one can feel the wind,” replied Fitz; “but I don’t believe your people can see which way to steer.”
“Nor I neither,” said Poole coolly. “Father is going to chance it, I believe. He’ll make straight for where he saw the gunboat last, as he thinks, and take it for granted that we can’t run on to her. Besides, she is pretty well sure to be on the move.”
“Most likely,” said Fitz; “but it’s terribly risky work.”
The rippling of the water under the schooner’s bows came very plainly now, as the boys went right forward, where two men were on the look-out. These they joined, to find that they had the sternest instructions, and these were communicated by the men to the two lads.
“Mustn’t speak, gentlemen,” they said.
“Just one word,” whispered Fitz. “What are you going to do if you make out that you are running right on to the enemy?”
“Whistle,” said the man addressed, laconically.
“What, for more wind?” asked Fitz.