Tom made a grimace.
“Of course I know how senseless that order would be,” pursued Seaton, with a nervous twitching of his lips. In fact, at this moment it filled one with pity, just to witness the too-plain signs of his inward torment and misery.
There was a pause, broken, after a few moments, by the charter-man saying, as he made a palpable effort to pull himself together:
“Halstead, you’ve shown so much sense all along that I leave it to you to do whatever you deem best.”
Skipper Tom’s brow cleared at once. A look of purpose flashed into his eyes.
“Then we’ll keep eastward out to sea, sir, or 172 a little bit to the northeast, until we get out in the usual path of the southbound steamers.”
“And after that?” demanded Powell Seaton, eagerly.
“All we can do, sir, then, will be to wait until we get a wireless communication with other vessels.”
“Go ahead, lad.”
Tom moved the speed control slowly, until the “Restless” went loafing along at a speed of six miles an hour. Heading weatherward, he gave more heed to the wheel, for there were signs that the water was going to roughen somewhat.