“Ah!” exclaimed the older lad, seeing the light, if not the sunlight. “Don’t you know that we are getting nearer and nearer to the tropics, and that there is mighty little twilight there?”
“No!”
“Fact. Night falls very suddenly.”
“‘Sudden!’ You said it!” ejaculated Ikey. “It’s enough to take your breath. I told Frenchy I wasn’t sure the sun would ever come up again.”
The fingers of Dawn were already smearing pale colorings along the eastern sky. The two boys watched the growing day wonderingly. No two sunrises are alike at sea, and Whistler was never tired of watching the changing sky and ocean.
This was the morning following the S O S call regarding the attack of the super-submarine on an Argentine ship. The Colodia was pounding away at a furious rate toward the place which the wireless had whispered; but the spot was still some leagues away.
It was a cloudy morning, the clouds being all around the horizon with the promise of clear sky overhead. Windrow upon windrow of mist rolled up above the horizon. The light in the east was half smothered by the clouds.
“I guess the old sun will get here on the dot,” said Whistler, in a mind to turn away to go about his duties.
“I’m going to wait for him,” said Ikey stubbornly. “No knowing what tricks he might play. Hi! Look there!”
Whistler, as well as Ikey, suddenly became interested in what they saw upon the western sky. There was a stratum of cloud floating there, beneath which the horizon—the meeting line of sky and sea—was clear. The spreading light of dawn imparted to this horizon line a clearness quite startling. It was as though it had been just dashed on with a brushful of fresh paint.