"It's kind'er warm, an' that's a fact."
"So much the better, because the crew will stay on deck, an' you'll have more of a chance to move around. It's only a case of layin' low for three or four days, an' then we'll see what your father can do toward gettin' you out."
"How will you let him know where I am?"
"There'll be plenty of show for that if we come alongside the Brooklyn; I can manage to send him word, I reckon."
The conversation was brought to an abrupt close by the appearance of a sailor's feet as he descended from the deck, and Bill Jones turned quickly away, pretending to be overhauling his sea-chest, while Teddy made all haste to regain his "hole."
Now it was that the stowaway had every reason to congratulate himself upon the fair prospects which were his, when it had seemed positive that much trouble would come before the venture was ended, and yet the moments passed more slowly than at any time since he had voluntarily become a prisoner.
With each hour his impatience increased, until it was with difficulty he could force himself to remain in hiding.
While he believed his father was very far away, there appeared good reason for remaining hidden; but now, with the Brooklyn close at hand, it seemed as if he must make his whereabouts known without loss of time.
Fear as to what terrible punishment the captain of the Merrimac might inflict, however, kept him in his proper place, and before many hours passed Bill Jones brought him further intelligence.
"The New York is to take on the first of the coal," he said, leaning over the barricade of rope, and whispering to the impatient prisoner. "I'm thinkin' we'll get around to the Brooklyn before all the cargo is gone, an' then this game of hide will come to an end—if your father is a smarter man than the average of us."