“No,” said Hilary to himself, “I suppose not. As they told me, he is only to interfere in cases of emergency, or when I am doing any foolish thing; and that I don’t mean to do if I can help it.”
Towards afternoon the wind fell light, and the great squaresail was spread, but it made little appreciable difference, and as evening came on, to Hilary’s great disgust the wind dropped almost completely.
“Did you ever know anything so unfortunate!” cried Hilary; “just when I wanted to show the admiral what speed there was in the little Kestrel as a despatch boat.”
“Unfortunate!” cried his companion, who had been struggling to maintain his composure, but who now broke out; “it is atrocious, sir. Those despatches are of the greatest importance, and here your cursed vessel lies upon the water like a log!” Hilary stared.
“It is very unfortunate,” he said; “but let’s hope the wind will spring up soon after sundown.”
“Hope, sir!” cried the other. “Don’t talk of hope. Do something.”
Hilary flushed a little at the other’s imperious way. He was not going to prove so pleasant a companion as he had hoped for, and there was that worst of all qualities for a man in command—unreason.
“I am to take your advice, sir, in emergencies,” said Hilary, restraining his annoyance; “what would you suggest for me to do?”
“I suggest, Lieutenant Leigh!” exclaimed the other, stamping up and down the little deck. “I am not in command of the cutter. It is your duty to suggest and to act.”
“Yes, sir, and I will,” replied Hilary.