“S’long as the pointer’s like that she’s on her course. Now I’ll let her off a spoke or two—keep your eye on the card.”
The pointer altered its indication, and the mainsail seemed suddenly attacked by the ague.
“Now she’s on her course again,” said Jude, altering the wheel. “Take hold of her. I’ll stand by to give you a hand if you want it.”
He took the spokes she had been holding as she relinquished them, and the first sensation that came to him was the feeling that he had taken hold of something alive, something alive and sensitive as a hare. The wheel seemed to have a motive power and will of its own, and the infernal compass card to take affront at the least movement of the helm.
Jude rested her hand on his left hand to show him how and give him confidence, and at the touch of her firm little hand the stage-fright that comes to every steersman when he first takes the wheel left him.
In five minutes he had got the hang of the thing, or thought so.
“Can you run her alone?” asked Jude.
“Rather! It’s as simple as simple.”
“Right,” said Jude.
She drew off and took her seat on the dinghy.