The captain of the Stranger looked toward the companion-ladder, up which his nephew had just disappeared, and motioned to Frank to close the door.
“That is the fourth time I have seen you look at that barometer during the last half hour,” continued Frank.
“Yes, and I find it lower every time I look at it,” answered the old sailor. “It is coming; trotting right along, too.”
“What is coming? Another tornado?”
“No, a regular old-fashioned cyclone.”
“I declare, it don’t seem to me that the schooner can stand much more pounding,” said Frank, drawing a long breath.
“Oh, she is good for a dozen battles like the one she has just passed through,” continued Uncle Dick, encouragingly. “Give me a tight craft, a good crew, and plenty of elbow-room, and I would much rather be afloat during a storm than on shore. There are no trees, chimneys, or roofs to fall on us here.”
“But we haven’t plenty of elbow-room,” said Frank, somewhat anxiously. “The islands are scattered around here thicker than huckleberry bushes in a New England pasture, and they are all surrounded with coral reefs, too.”
“I know it; but it is our business to keep clear of the coral reefs. Now, let me see how much you know. Where’s the schooner?”
Frank, who now occupied his old position as sailing-master of the vessel, took a chart from Uncle Dick’s desk, and pointed out the position of their little craft, which he had marked with a red lead-pencil after taking his observation at noon.