“Easy, ain’t it?”
“Easy as pie.”
The wind freshened a bit, and the Sarah, heeling slightly, took matters in her own hand for a moment and fell off her course. He put the wheel over too much, and like a frightened horse she went plunging away in the opposite direction, the wind spilling from her sails and the main boom threatening to swing to port.
In a moment Jude was beside him, her hands on the spokes, and the Sarah on her course again.
A voice came from below, where Satan, like a sensitive plant, had evidently felt the alteration in their course.
“What the —— are you doin’ up there?”
“Learning Rat to steer,” cried Jude.
Ratcliffe, himself again, retaking the wheel, turned to her.
“For God’s sake,” said he, “don’t call me that!”
“Which?”