“What?” cried Ferguson. “Were you mad? Were they mad? Were you all raving, stark, staring distracted? What were you all thinking of? A water-logged ship! Why, do you mean to stand there in your boots, look me in the face, and tell me that about the boys?”
Captain Corbet trembled from head to foot.
“A water-logged ship! Why, you might as well tell me you pitched them all overboard and drowned them.”
Captain Corbet shuddered, and turned away.
Ferguson laid his hand upon his shoulder.
“Come,” said he, more quietly, “you couldn’t have been such a fool! You must have considered that the boys had some chance. What sort of a ship was she? What was her cargo?”
“Timber,” said the mournful Corbet in a melancholy wail.
Ferguson’s face brightened.
“You’re sure of that?”
“Gospel sure.”