“It’s a compliment, because it shows that, after all, you have some faith in me.” He added, with a smile, “You won’t regret it.”
Ruth left him with a lighter heart. She did not know whether she had been too hard on Clay or not, but she felt that she could trust him.
CHAPTER XXVI—AN UNEXPECTED DELAY
As soon as Aynsley joined her at Victoria, the handsome schooner-yacht, with its auxiliary engines, got under way. For the first day or two the wind was fair, but although she spread a good deal of canvas, Clay insisted on keeping up a full head of steam.
“She’d slip along fast enough with her propeller disconnected and the gaff-topsails set,” Aynsley expostulated. “Keeping the fires going is a waste of coal.”
“I’m willing to meet the bill,” Clay replied. “Guess I’m used to hustling, and I like to feel I’m getting there.”
“We may get there too soon,” Aynsley persisted. “I expect we’ll find ice about the island.”
“Then we can wait until it clears. Keep her going at her best clip to please me.”
Aynsley promised to do so, though his father’s eagerness made him thoughtful. As a matter of fact, Clay was tensely impatient to begin work on the wreck. He had so far never spoiled an undertaking by undue haste, but he had now a foreboding that if he delayed his attempt he might be too late. His life was threatened, and he must finish the work he had on hand while there was an opportunity.
When they lost sight of Vancouver Island the wind drew ahead, and, furling sail, the yacht proceeded under steam. For two days she made a satisfactory run, and then, as the breeze freshened and the sea got up, her speed slackened and, burdened by her heavy masts, she plunged viciously through the white-topped combers. The weather did not improve, and on the third afternoon Clay stood on the sloppy after-deck impatiently looking about. Gray mist obscured the horizon, and long ranks of frothing seas loomed up ahead. The vessel lurched over them, rolling wildly, burying her bows in the foam, which swept in across her low bulwarks and poured out through the waist gangway in streaky cataracts. The sooty cloud from her funnel streamed far to leeward, and Clay could feel her engines throbbing; but he saw that she was making poor speed, and he beckoned to Aynsley, who came aft and joined him.