Francis Delavan’s round, good-humored face betrayed instant signs of uneasiness, mingled with disgust.
“Captain Halstead, do we have to heed that signal?” he demanded. “That is, are we obliged to pay heed?”
“The laws of the ocean compel us to go close and hail her,” replied Tom, altering the “Rocket’s” course slightly, so as to run near the motionless boat.
“It’s a trick,” grumbled Mr. Delavan. “They’ll claim that their engine has broken down. They’ll want to demand a tow.”
“Do you want us to extend any help?” Tom inquired.
“Not unless we’re obliged to. But, of course, captain, neither you nor I can flagrantly defy the laws of navigation.”
“Luncheon is ready, gentlemen,” called Jed, from the deck below.
“Oh, bother luncheon!” muttered Moddridge.
“Not so, my dear fellow,” retorted Delavan, his old, easy manner returning. “We have much work to do, my dear fellow, and we must keep our furnaces running. Luncheon is the best of ideas. Come along. Captain, I look to you to guard my interests.”
Just as the “Rocket,” her speed lessened, ran up close to the racing craft, Mr. Delavan disappeared into the cabin, almost dragging his friend and guest after him.