“I don’t see why not. Is that what were going to do?”
“Yes.”
“When do you want to push off?”
“When the wind stops.”
“We’ll have it ready.”
Evans met Bervick in the salon. Bervick was wet from his dash across the open deck.
“What’s the focs’le doing?” asked Evans. “Leaking?”
“No, we was lucky. We’re hung up just under the bow. We’ve lost our guardrail and that’s about all.”
“Good.” Evans looked through the after door. The sea crashed all around them, the white sea spray formed a cloud about them.
“Should be over soon,” remarked Bervick. “I think it’ll be over soon.”