“Don’t know,” replied Dawson. “Haven’t seen enough of them yet.”
“I’m thinking you will, soon,” replied Halstead. “How’s the wind been?”
“From the east, sir,” replied Hepton, who was at the wheel.
“It’s working around to northeast, now,” muttered Halstead. “And it was almost from the south when I turned in.”
Tom stood by the barometer, watching it.
“Trouble coming,” he said, briefly.
Within half an hour his prediction began to be verified. The darkish, “muddy” clouds first seen on the northeast horizon were looming up rapidly, the wind now driving steadily from that quarter. Even with all the smallness of her single sail the “Restless” was heeling over considerably to port.
“Lay along here, Hank, and help me to put a double reef in the sail,” Tom ordered. “I don’t want this little bit of canvas blown away from us.”
As Tom called, he eased off the sheet, and Hepton lounged away from the wheel.
“Too bad,” muttered Hank Butts. “We’ve been making a good four knots since the wind freshened.” 203