Scood looked vicious, but said nothing, only seated himself to windward, so as to counterbalance the pressure, and held on by the sheet.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Scood nodded.
“Then make that sheet fast.”
Scood shook his head.
“Will you make that sheet fast?”
“Too much wind.”
Kenneth left the tiller and literally leaped on to Scood, and, to the horror of Max, there was a desperate wrestle, during which he was in momentary expectation of seeing both pitch over into the sea. The boat rocked, the sail flapped, and a wave came with a slap against the side, and splashed the luggage in the bottom, before Scood yielded, and sat down on the forward thwart.
“I don’t care,” he said. “I can swim as long as I like.”
“I’ll make you swim if you don’t mind,” said Kenneth, seizing the rope and making it fast.