"See!" cried Pudge. "One's just a kid—that little feller."
"There's one with hair as red as a rheumatic bandage," chuckled Kirby. "Some hair, that! Now he's put on his hat and quenched the sunset."
"How about the fellow steering?" asked Ben. "Hi! There goes his hat."
The sou'wester the steersman had carelessly clapped upon his head, without fastening the chinstrap, suddenly sailed like a hydroplane over the leaping whitecaps. The wind tossed his blond hair like a girl's.
"Observe that football mop!" yelled Pudge. "That's some hirsute adornment, Harry—eh?"
"Look at that sail belly, will you?" Kirby was saying, for he knew something about boat-sailing and was keenly watching the handling of the catboat. "He must be mighty sure of his stick."
"Got to claw off shore," Horace said briefly, likewise watching the maneuvering of the craft with interest. "This squall came suddenly when the wind shifted. She's too close in for comfort."
"Suppose they'll be capsized?" asked Ben.
"Wouldn't want to be in their shoes right now," grunted Kirby. "There! The wind's puffing again. This squall is dangerous."
"Here comes the rain, fellows," cried Pudge in his high-pitched voice.