“Then do something! Say something!” he commanded. “Where’s the yacht? What are we going to do?”
“First of all, if you’ll please sit still for a minute or two, we’re going to get to land without tipping over. Will you sit still that long?”
“Go ahead! You’ve got me into this mess; now get me out.”
“Only sit still,” I pleaded and carefully guided the canoe towards the nearest land. This was the little out-jutting point of the island from which I had swum to the Wanderer that afternoon, and I did not breathe fully until I had beached the canoe solidly and the danger of capsizing from George’s jerky movements was over. He stepped out hurriedly.
“My God! This is awful, awful!” he said hoarsely, looking around in the dark. “This is terrible! A fine mess you’ve got me into, Gardy.”
“Why, George, it can’t be so bad,” said Betty cheerily, stepping out beside him. “The yacht’s been moved that’s all. We’ll only have to find her new anchorage. It will be all right.”
“All right? All right! Hang it, Betty; I’m in no shape to stand this sort of thing. It’s Gardy’s fault. He got me into it. Now what are you going to do, Gardy? Eh?”
“Look around for the yacht’s new anchorage, as Miss Baldwin says,” I replied. “She can’t be far off.”
“Can’t be far off! Can you see her? Is she anywhere around? Don’t you suppose we’d see the lights if she was near?”
“Not if they had no outside lights and the curtains in the cabin were down,” said Betty soothingly.