“Don't pay any attention to him,” she pleaded.
“We are going to be drowned! You can't deny it, can you? We're going to die!” He pulled a trembling hand from between his knees, where he had held both hands pinched in order to steady them. He shook his fist at Mayo. “Own up, now. We're going to die, aren't we?”
“I think it's right to tell the truth at this stage,” said Mayo, in steady tones. “We're not children. Yonder is a beach with sand-reefs and breakers, and when we strike the sand this boat will go over and over and we shall be tossed out. The waves will throw us up and haul us back like a cat playing with mice. And we stand about the same chance as mice.”
“And that's the best you can do for us—and you call yourself a sailor!” whined Bradish.
“I'm only a poor chap who has done his best as it came to his hand to do,” said the young man, seeking the girl's eyes with his.
She gazed at him for a moment and then put both hands to her face and began to sob.
“It's a hard thing to face, but we'd better understand the truth and be as brave as we can,” said Mayo, gently.
“For myself I ain't a mite surprised,” averred the cook. “I had my hunch! I was resigned. But my plans was interfered with. I wanted to go down in good, deep, green, clean water like a sailor ought to. And now I'm going to get mauled into the sand and have a painful death.”
“Shut up!” barked Mayo.
The girl was trembling, and he feared collapse.