“Then you mean to try soon?” cried Rodd eagerly.
“Why not?” replied the skipper gruffly. “Look yonder; what do you say to that?”
“That” was the presence of Joe Cross, who was being ushered into the dining-saloon by the waiter, to announce that the wind had sunk a bit and only came in squalls, between two of which he thought he could easily run the boat alongside of the schooner.
And he did—while the next morning broke almost absolutely calm.
Chapter Seventeen.
A Question of Fear.
It was as if all the bad weather had been left behind, for after a little snatch or two, as Joe Cross called them, the cruise down south had been glorious.
The bluff, good-humoured sailor explained to Rodd what he meant by a snatch, something after this fashion.