“But the sound seems to come from all around,” said the Captain.
“It will at first, but afterwards you can tell,” said Hinpoha. “Nyoda used to keep making us tell the direction from which sounds came and we can almost always do it. The fog horn is behind us now.”
The Captain kept on in the direction they had been going and ran very slowly. “It’ll take us all evening to get home at this rate,” he said. “If we don’t run past the island,” he added under his breath.
A few minutes later the chugging of the engine ceased and their steady, if slow, progress was arrested. “What’s the matter?” asked Hinpoha.
“I don’t know,” said the Captain in a vexed tone. “It can’t be that we’re out of gasoline–I filled up before we left. The engine’s gone dead.”
He struck match after match in an effort to see what the trouble was, but they only made a feeble glare in the fog and he could not locate the trouble. “What are we going to do now?” he exclaimed in a tone of concern.
“Sit here until the fog lifts, I suppose,” said Hinpoha calmly.
Finally, satisfied that he could do absolutely nothing to fix the trouble until he could see, the Captain settled back to await the lifting of the fog. The chill in the air was getting sharper all the time, and, 187 although Hinpoha did everything she could to prevent it, her teeth chattered and the Captain could feel her convulsive shivers, even under the tarpaulin.
“Here,” he said, taking off his coat and putting it around her shoulders, “put this on.”
Hinpoha shoved it away resolutely, shaking her head. She could not speak articulately. But the Captain was determined and made her put it on in spite of her protests.