If they stopped her, it would be necessary to get T. C. on deck right away and the Chinks ready to man the boat. There would be scarcely time to say good-bye—besides, it was ten to one T. C. wouldn’t want to go—besides she was in those togs. The freighter was abreast of them now. They watched her without a word. Suddenly a stream of bunting fluttered up and blew out on the wind of her passage. Candon shaded his eyes and looked.
“Wishing us a pleasant voyage,” said Candon.
They watched the flags flutter down and the great turtle backed stern with the sunlight on it and the plumes of foam from the propellers. Then, as the wash reached them, making the Wear Jack groan and clatter her blocks, came a new sound, a thrud-thrud-thrud right under their feet, followed by the voice of George yelling, “Hi, you chaps, get the helm on her, engine’s going.”
Candon sprang to the wheel and Hank came and stood beside him.
Hank said, “That freighter must have thought us awful swine not acknowledging their signal.”
“Maybe they thought right,” said Candon.
At that moment, George appeared, triumphant from the engine room. “She’s running a treat,” said he, “and T. C.’s looking after her. What’s made the cross swell?” Without waiting for an answer and at a call from Tommie, he dived below again.
Half an hour later when he came on deck, taking a look aft, George said: “Now if we hadn’t an auxiliary engine and if it wasn’t running well, this calm would have lasted a fortnight. Look there!”
They looked. Away to northward a vast expanse of the glassy swell had turned to a tray of smashed sapphires.
It was the breeze.