“She’s coming nearer, sir, and we can see for three or four hundred feet, now, in every direction. There’s but a slight chance of the vessel getting by us.”
“What ails you, Moddridge?” demanded Mr. Delavan, turning and gazing wonderingly at his friend.
“I’m nervous, of course,” returned that gentleman.
“Pshaw! Sit down and let your nerves rest.”
“But I can’t!”
“Stand up, then,” pursued Mr. Delavan, coolly. “But you’re tiring yourself out, Moddridge, with that jerky gait over such a short course.”
“Delavan, have you no mind, no nerves?” cried Moddridge, raspingly. “When you stop to think of the great amounts of money that are at stake. When you——”
Eben Moddridge paused, out of breath.
“Well?” insisted Mr. Delavan, placidly.
“Oh, pshaw!” snapped the nervous one. “There’s no use in talking to you, or trying to make you understand. You’ve no imagination.”