“Lovely. But I say—inspissated juice is good, isn’t it?”
“Do go on telling me, Bob. I’m too weak to stand banter. So you went up to the masthead to look for me, old chap?”
“I did, my son, and pretty well lived up there—I mean died—it was so hot. But there was nothing to see eastward but the dim hazy sea and sky, though I watched for days and days.”
“Days and days?” said Mark, wonderingly.
“Well, I’m not quite sure about how long it was, for the sun made me so giddy. I had to lash myself to the mast, or I should have taken a dive overboard; and my head grew muddly. But it was an awful long time. My eye! how the men whistled!”
“For wind?”
“Yes; and the more they whistled the more it didn’t come. Old Maitland was in a taking, and it wasn’t safe to speak to Staples. I say, Van, old chap, he came right up to the cross-trees himself and told me I didn’t know how to use a spy-glass. He said the boat with you fellows in lay just due east, and that he could make it out directly.”
“And did he?”
“No; he just didn’t; and then, after trying for half an hour, he said mine was a wretchedly poor weak glass, and came down again. You see, the skipper and old Staples were mad about losing the schooner, and just wild about leaving the boat behind and going on so far before coming back to pick you up.
“Of course, they couldn’t tell that the wind would drop so suddenly,” said Mark. “Well, you caught sight of us at last?”