The Walcott Hall boys had a good time at the boat club; but they were delayed in getting away, and when the Spoondrift ran down toward the Channel it was plain the wind had come around into the north and was blowing strongly. The sea outside was streaked with foam over the caps of the jumping waves.
"Guess your old wind's changed, all right," grumbled Peewee.
"We won't have to beat up against it all the way back to the island," Rex responded with cheerfulness. "Keep up hope, infant. All is not lost."
"I don't want to lose everything," said Cloudman as the cat began to pitch in the choppy sea. "That apple pie was too good to waste."
"Stop that talk!" groaned Peewee, his hand upon his stomach.
Cloudman really suffered from seasickness before they got out into open sea. There the waves were less choppy, and the Spoondrift rode them like a seafowl. It was easier on all hands.
But the wind increased in strength, and to beat up into the sound—which was all a-streak with foam and very blusterous to look upon—was really more of an undertaking than Kingdon cared to tackle.
"We can do it all right. She's safe enough," Rex said to Midkiff. "But it will make rough going, Jawn—awful rough. These lubbers will be set on their ears."
"Never mind them. They'll feel better after it's all over."
"Unfeeling words, old boy. That's a narrow breach into our little cove where the camp is. Believe I'll go t'other side of the island."