“Look here, friend of my boyhood, do you want to finish this authentic narrative?”
“No, I don’t. Go on.”
“Then hold your tongue. I do like that, you saying what a tongue I’ve got. Spikes and spun yarn! It’s about nothing to yours. There, I won’t keep you longer in suspense, as my old aunt used to say. After the crew had whistled the air quite full, it all condensed and turned into a breeze—on the third evening, I think it was, and I mast-headed myself again, and there was another man sent up to the fore-masthead.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Mark, with a feeble smile upon his thin face.
“I said another man was sent up to look-out. I’m afraid that the exposure and fasting have affected your hearing a little, my son. But to go back to our muttons, as the French say. The breeze came on just right from the south-east, and we soon had plenty of sail on, and made some good big tacks; but it came on dark without our having got a squint of you; and that night once more my supper spoilt my rest, and every one else’s disagreed with him. For the crew were on deck all night, walking about uncomfortable, and the worst of it was old Whitney’s prescriptions didn’t do any one a bit of good.”
“Of course,” said Mark, thoughtfully. “It must have been a terrible time of anxiety for the officers.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Bob, coolly. “It was a nuisance, for that first cutter was always considered our fastest boat. Well, to proceed. Next day, when the sun was hot enough to fry salt junk, someone caught sight of the boat lying like a speck on the glittering water.”
“Who did?” cried Mark, eagerly.
“Who did?” replied Bob, thoughtfully. “Let me see. I half— Dear me now, who— How strange! It must have been somebody, because the ship’s head was altered, and— Now how curious it is that I can’t think who it was sighted the boat!”
“I know,” said Mark. “You did, Bob.”