“If you’d like Raggy to come and sit on the safety valve,” says Mr Dewar, “I’ll send him.”
The engineer laughs heartily at the idea, and answers—
“The fat’ll do the job,” Mr Dewar, “without poor Raggy.”
So it does, and just as the sun is dropping like a red-hot cannon-ball into the sea, and turning the waves to blood, the first shot goes roaring through the rigging of that doomed dhow.
Another and another follow, still she cracks on. Then a shell or two are fired and burst right over her.
The Arabs cannot stand that. They lower sails at once.
But behold! almost at the same moment a boat leaves the dhow, and impelled by sturdy arms goes bounding away shoreward.
“Ah!” says Captain Wayland, “the Arabs won’t stop to reckon with us, and they will soon be where we can’t follow them.”
“Never mind,” replies Mr Dewar, laughing, “we’ll have the prize.”
“And, sir,” he adds, “it is all owing to a bit of fat.”