In the gray light of a raw day, shuddering and washed by spray, the Wanderer had become a grim, serviceable sea-conqueror rather than the magnificent pleasure-boat she had seemed yesterday, and two seamen, roughly clad and dripping, were putting extra lashings on a life-boat forward.
I went down to breakfast with new impressions of the grim potentialities of this expedition.
I had breakfast alone. Chanler was still in his stateroom and the officers all had breakfasted long before. While I was eating, Freddy Pierce popped his head in.
“Oh, hello; it’s you, is it,” he greeted. “I was looking for the boss; another message.”
“Mr. Chanler is in his stateroom,” I said.
“He sent another message to this Jane—to Miss Baldwin, last night,” said Pierce.
I continued to eat.
“This is a reply to it that I’ve got here.”
“Pierce,” said I, looking up, “you will find Mr. Chanler in his stateroom.”
“Right!” said he. Saying which the messenger boy turned and ran. “Oh, Simmons! Come here. Message for the boss.”