“Yes, madam.”
“But I thought we had made it plain that we didn’t want dinner served, any night, earlier than seven o’clock.”
“There’s a reason, to-night, Mrs. Tremaine,” replied Skipper Tom, standing there, uniform cap in hand. “It is best to have the meal over early because—well, do you see the sky to the southward?”
The haze at the lower horizon had spread into a darkening cloud that was overtaking the boat.
“Are we going to have a storm?” asked Mrs. Tremaine, in quick apprehension.
“Well, a bit of a blow, anyway,” admitted the young captain. “It may prove, Mrs. Tremaine, to be just a little kink out of the Gulf Stream, which we are now leaving.”
“Is it going to be one of the ugly, southerly December gales which I’ve read cross the Gulf of Mexico with such violence?” asked Ida Silsbee, turning around quickly.
“We’ll hope it won’t be much,” replied Captain Tom, smiling. “You can see that I don’t look very worried.”
“Oh, you can’t fool me, Captain Halstead,” cried Mrs. Tremaine, rising from her chair with what was unusual haste for her. “You know more than you are telling! Things are going to happen to-night!”