“Come in here, you Blue Nose pork, and shut the door.”
“Well, it’s Amherst, anyway,” answered Ned laughing as he hobbled in again, “I made out the brick yard on both sides of the railroad track.”
Alan and Roy gave him little attention. They were busy confirming time, speed and location.
“New course, east by one-half north,” exclaimed Roy.
“East by one-half north,” repeated Alan.
“Make it so,” quickly continued Roy in a tone of pride that was plainly meant for Ned. “Cold Springs in Northumberland Straits, twenty miles ahead. Weather cool and foggy,” he concluded as he entered the same in his log.
“Sounds like a yacht,” remarked Ned, still laughing. “I guess I’ll go below.”
“Hurry up some supper,” repeated Alan who was again intent on the flight ahead. “Buck must be asleep.”
But Buck wasn’t asleep. For four hours, almost without quitting his chair, Bob had not left his gauges and indicator board. He was still there, the close room now hot and stifling with its closed doors. Buck, on the contrary, since half past four, had been busy in the storeroom in the forward end of which was the galley.
“How’s the eats, Buck?” called out Ned opening the door to the galley. There was no need to ask. The odors that rolled out were positive evidence that, whatever might be Buck’s culinary skill he was at least a miscellaneous and prodigal provider.