“He says he doesn’t know why I should go hunting for trouble,” he reported, “but he says I can go.”
“Well, that’s the main thing,” said Raynor cheerily, “and you’d better see Mr. Brown right away. There goes the boat.”
The craft was, in fact, being slung out on the davits when Jack approached the mate and told him that he was to form one of the party.
“Always digging up work for yourself,” grinned the mate.
“That’s what the captain said,” rejoined Jack demurely.
He took his place in the boat, and a few moments later the small craft was being rowed away from the big tanker’s side by six pairs of stout arms.
“Cheerily, men!” admonished Mr. Brown. “Remember it’s the owner we’re going after. It may mean a dollar or two in every man’s pocket if we hurry.”
This hint had the desired effect.
The men bent to the oars till the stout ash curved and the boat hissed through the water. They had not gone more than a mile before a lively breeze caused Mr. Brown to order the sail hoisted.
Naturally enough, nobody was averse to this, and soon, under the canvas, they were speeding over the dancing sea. In his pleasure at this agreeable break in the monotony of sea-life, Jack almost forgot the seriousness of the errand on which they were bent.