“And if she turned over they would have a better chance than we would,” declared Neale O’Neil. “There would be air enough confined in the cabin to keep them going for a time. But if we were thrown into this sea there isn’t one of us could live five minutes.”
This was so evidently the fact that Mr. Howbridge said nothing more. The lawyer was not much of an out-of-doors man at the best. He had not spent much time on the sea or in the wilds, and he was now past middle age. But he possessed something that not all men used to roughing it possess. He had a broad knowledge from reading of boat-sailing as well as of other sports.
He was less ready to show apprehension than the young fellows. The responsibility for this condition of affairs must rest more on Mr. Howbridge’s shoulders. The lawyer accepted this fact, and proceeded to cudgel his brains to find a way out of the difficulty.
“We’ve got to overhaul that engine, in spite of the heavy sea, and try to make her go,” Mr. Howbridge said. “You’ve cleared out the water pretty well, Luke. She rises to each wave, and as long as it does not rain again we certainly will not be swamped.”
“We need a lantern,” complained Neale. “Guess we’ll have to pry open that door, Mr. Howbridge.”
“Think so? I don’t want the girls up here.”
“Well, we can make the little ones stay down, and Ruth will look out for them. If Aggie insists on coming up here we’ll set her to work.”
“That will please her only too well,” said Agnes’ guardian.
Which was true enough. Agnes rushed out on deck, sputtering. Neither she nor Ruth had any idea of the extent of the disaster. When she saw the racing, foam-capped waves and the blackness of sea and sky, even the flyaway was subdued.
“Are we headed in the right direction?” Ruth asked at the open slide.