Whether he made for Josiah Cross, or Joe, as he was generally called, came up to him, Rodd did not know, but as he stood with one arm over the rail he soon found himself in conversation.
“Are we going to have a storm?” he said.
“Well, I dunno, sir, about storm. More wind coming.”
“How do you know?”
“How do I know, sir?” cried the man. “Why, if you come to that, I don’t know. Seem to feel it like. I don’t say as it will. Wind’s nor’-west now, and has been all day, but I shouldn’t wonder if it chopped right round, and then—”
“There’ll be a storm,” said Rodd eagerly.
“Well, I don’t say that, sir; but like enough there will be more wind than we want to use, and we might have to put back.”
“What, now that we have started at last?” cried Rodd.
The man nodded.
“Oh, that would be vexatious,” cried Rodd, “to find ourselves back in Plymouth again!”