“You seem to be making very serious preparations,” suggested Powell Seaton, seriously.
“Nothing like being a fool on the wise side,” answered Skipper Tom, calmly.
Within ten minutes more the wind had freshened a good deal, and the “Restless” was bending over considerably to port, running well, indeed, considering her very small spread of canvas.
Now, the sky became darker. The weather was like that on shore in autumn when the birds are seen scurrying to cover just before the storm breaks.
“I reckon there’s going to be something close to trouble, after all,” observed Powell Seaton, when it became necessary for him to hold his hat on.
Tom nodded in a taciturn way, merely saying:
“If you’re going to stay on deck, Mr. Seaton, you’d better put on a cap, or a sou’wester.”
Mr. Seaton started below, through the motor 205 room. While he was still there the gale struck, almost without further warning.
“Watch the wind and ease off a bit, Joe,” bawled Skipper Halstead in his chum’s ear.
Joe Dawson nodded slightly. The gale was now upon them with such fury that making one’s self heard was something like work.