A pot of steaming coffee was on the stove, and the cook spread on the table such provisions as were most conveniently at hand, in order that those who were forced to go out on the coast again to do patrol duty might refresh themselves without waste of time.
Once the men had put on dry clothing it was as if all previous dangers were forgotten, and Sam Hardy suggested that they man the surf-boat in order to go in search of the life-boat.
“She’ll pound herself to pieces on the rocks ’twixt now an’ mornin’, whereas by a bit of hard work at this time we may save her, an’ in so doin’ prevent it from bein’ said along the shore that we allowed such a craft to be wrecked.”
Tom Downey hesitated; he questioned whether he was warranted in risking human lives to save what might be replaced by an expenditure of dollars and cents, and perhaps would have turned a deaf ear to Sam’s suggestion, but that every other member of the crew evinced a strong desire to make the attempt.
Their record for saving life and property was exceptionally good at the Department, as every man knew full well, and to get such a black mark as must be set down against them in case the life-boat should be lost, was anything rather than pleasing to contemplate.
“I claim that we are not warranted in taking the chances,” Downey said slowly and thoughtfully; “but if you fellows are so set on it, we’ll make the try.”
As he spoke Benny began to overhaul the spare oil-skins—the suit he wore when they set out before having been thrown off when he with Hardy leaped into the water—, and Downey asked sharply:
“There’s another small coat here somewhere,” and Benny hurriedly tossed over the assortment of waterproof garments.