“And I wonder if Hank stands in with them,” mused Neale. “I must find out. But first I’ve got to do something about the boat. If we’re adrift, as we surely are, we may run into some other craft, or one may run into us, or—”
Neale paused as he felt a grating beneath the broad, flat bottom of the boat and the craft careened slightly.
“We may go aground or be blown on an island,” was his completed thought. “But we’re safe so far,” he mentally added, as he felt the Bluebird slip off some under-water rock or reef of mud over which she progressed.
Then Neale galvanized himself into action. He forgot all about the drink he had been going to get, and, slipping on shoes and a rubber coat that hung in his room, he stepped out into the corridor which ran the length of the boat between the two rows of sleeping rooms.
Neale was going up on deck to look around and, if possible, find out what had caused the boat to break away from her moorings.
As Neale passed Ruth’s door it opened and she came out, wrapped in a heavy robe.
“What is it, Neale?” asked the oldest Corner House girl. “Has anything happened?”
“Nothing much yet. But it may,” was the answer. “We’re adrift, and it’s coming on to blow. I’m going to see what the matter is.”
“I’ll come with you,” Ruth offered. Neale was like a brother to the Kenway girls. “Shall I call Mr. Howbridge and Mrs. Mac?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he answered in a low voice. “It may be that the cable has only slipped, but I don’t see how it could. In that case I’ll only have to take a few turns around a cleat and we’ll be all right. No use calling any one unless we have to.”