She shook her head.
“I mean, from the little I know, that I know I can learn to know a meridian sight and the working out of it. I mean that I can learn to know inside of two hours.”
Strange to say, the gale, after easing to a mild breeze, recrudesced in a sort of after-clap. With sails untrimmed and flapping, the consequent smashing, crashing, and rending of our gear can be imagined. It brought out in alarm every man for’ard.
“Trim the yards!” I yelled at Bert Rhine, who, backed for counsel by Charles Davis and the Maltese Cockney, actually came directly beneath me on the main deck in order to hear above the commotion aloft.
“Keep a-runnin, an’ you won’t have to trim,” the gangster shouted up to me.
“Want to make land, eh?” I girded down at him. “Getting hungry, eh? Well, you won’t make land or anything else in a thousand years once you get all your top-hamper piled down on deck.”
I have forgotten to state that this occurred at midday yesterday.
“What are you goin’ to do if we trim?” Charles Davis broke in.
“Run off shore,” I replied, “and get your gang out in deep sea where it will be starved back to duty.”
“We’ll furl, an’ let you heave to,” the gangster proposed.