CHAPTER XII
THE REEF’S TOLL
That dinner was one of the best the lads had ever eaten, it seemed to them. Indeed, Jack forgot about the howling of the wind and the spattering of the rain outside, and Ray even ceased talking of his precious model, so intent were they both on satisfying their ravenous appetites. There were sizzling hot flounders, [the finest flapjacks that ever were cooked], cold boiled lobster, fine homemade bread, steaming coffee and a generous apple pie, which Jack assured the lobsterman was quite the best of its kind he had ever tasted.
“[The finest flapjacks that ever were cooked.]”
The old seaman took as much pride in his cooking as any housewife and it pleased him to watch the lads “git a full cargo,” as he expressed it. In fact, he urged them to eat more, even after they had announced that they could not possibly hold another morsel, and finally the boys simply had to push back their chairs and cry “enough.”
It was fully half-past three when the dishes were cleared away and washed, and by that time the storm outside had worked up to a furious pitch. The wind whistled about the little cottage and down the chimney, blowing great quantities of smoke into the room from the wood fire that Mitchell kept burning to heat his dish water. The rain was coming down harder now, and spattering against the window panes so furiously that Jack had difficulty in seeing out across the cove in which the Betsy Anne and Mitchell’s dories were moored.
“Say, Ray, this is a real storm,” he said to his young chum. “How on earth are we to get back to the lighthouse? We can’t go by way of the Betsy Anne. I’d never take a chance in any boat to-day no matter how seaworthy she is.”
“Right an’ so, right an’ so, lad,” said the old lobsterman as he took a squint at the weather through the front window. “An’ ’e needn’t be a fearin’ as I’d ask ’e to. Hit ud take a ’ull lot of coaxin’ for t’ git me t’ take t’ Betsy Hanne hout hin weather like this ’ere even though she’s t’ safest boat fer ’er size as ever was. But must ’e go back t’day? Can’t ’e stiy ’ere for t’ night, mebby?”
“Goodness, no. You remember how we got a scolding for staying away over night at Austin’s Pool, don’t you, Ray? Poor Mr. Warner and Big O’Brien were worried to death. Thought we’d been drowned, sure enough. And he saw us go out in a sailboat this morning too. Jiminy, I’ll bet they think we were caught in this storm. They will sure decide we are goners, if we don’t show up to-night. We must get to the lighthouse, Ray. Don’t you agree with me?”
“Yes,” said Ray firmly, “Mr. Warner has been mighty good to both of us and I don’t think we should cause him any more worry than necessary. I was sorry that we made it so unpleasant by staying at Frenchman’s Point last time. We must get back to the lighthouse. We can walk across the island. I don’t mind getting wet, do you? That’s about the worst that can happen to us.”