“It would be easier to guess what Mr. Moddridge would look like,” laughed Joe.
“‘Speaking of angels——’” quoted Captain Tom, dryly. Joe wheeled about to look up beyond the shore end of the pier. Eben Moddridge was coming toward them on a nervous, jerky run. He reached the pier and boarded the boat, all out of breath.
“Is Mr. Delavan aboard?” he demanded, pantingly.
“Mr. Delavan took the small boat from the port davits and went for a row, sir, at about six this morning,” reported Captain Tom.
“And hasn’t returned?” asked Mr. Moddridge, eyes and mouth opening wide at the same time. “Which way did he go?”
“Out toward the inlet, sir,” Joe answered, pointing southward.
“And the fog rolling in there now!” exclaimed Moddridge, looking more nervous every instant. “Then what are you doing here? Why aren’t you out yonder trying to find your employer?”
“We will start, if you wish,” Captain Tom agreed.
“Wish?” echoed the nervous one, “I command it!”
Eben Moddridge, not being the owner, could issue no order that the young skipper was bound to obey. But Halstead himself thought it would be wholly wise to go out in search of his employer. The “Rocket’s” bow and stern hawsers were quickly cast off by Jed, while Joe gave the wheel a few vigorous turns in the engine room. The craft fell off from the pier, then, at slow speed, nosed straight out for the inlet.