“Somewhere off the Devon coast, I suppose.”
“You were, a week ago, my boy. There, get up and dress yourself; the sun shines and the sea’s calm, and in a few hours I can show you the coast of Spain.”
“But, father,” cried Mark, upon whom this news seemed to have a magical effect, “aren’t we going ashore at Penzance.”
“Penzance, my boy! We had one of the narrowest of shaves of going on the Lizard Rocks, and were only too glad to get plenty of sea-room. Do you know we’ve been running for a week under storm topsails, and in as dangerous a storm as a ship could face?”
“I knew it had been very bad, father, but not like that. What are you going to do?”
“Make the best of things, sir. Look here, Mark, you wanted to come for a voyage with me.”
“Yes, father.”
“Well, I said I wouldn’t take you.”
“Yes, father.”
“And now I’m obliged to: for I can’t put back.”