Yet Tom’s teeth were threatening so persistently to chatter that he had to hold his jaws firmly together for a moment before he dared attempt a slight signal.
“Pss-sst!” It was a low signal indeed. Ted Dunstan half raised his gaze from the printed page, then glanced down again.
“Whirr-rr-ugh!” came the noisy safety-signal from Pedro.
Tom ventured to raise his head a trifle higher above the port gunwale.
“Pss-sst! pss-sst!” he hissed desperately.
Ted Dunstan looked up now, his glance traveling swiftly astern. Then he caught sight of the eager face of the “Meteor’s” young skipper. At sight of the peeper’s face the Dunstan heir’s face was a study in amazement. At first he just stared, as though suddenly in a daze.
“Come here!” whispered Tom ever so softly.
Ted laid his book down, shot a swift, uncertain glance at the cubby in which Pedro lay, then rose uncertainly. Tom hauled himself up, perching himself on the gunwale.
“Be quick and silent about it,” whispered Tom, as Ted reached him and stood staring with all his might. “Can you swim?”
“Why?” demanded Ted curtly, and not exactly in a whisper, either.