"And suppose yours are lost too, and there ain't any wind for the sails?" demanded Whistlebinkie.
"I've got a pair o' bellows down in my box," said the Unwiseman gleefully. "We can sit right behind the sails and blow the whole business right in the teeth of a dead clam."
"Dead what?" roared Mollie.
"A dead clam," said the Unwiseman. "I haven't found out why they call it a dead clam—unless it's because it's so still—but that's the way we sailors refer to a time at sea when there isn't a handful o' wind in sight and the ocean is so smooth that even the billows are afraid to roll in it for fear they'd roll off."
"We sailors!" ejaculated Whistlebinkie, scornfully under his breath. "Hoh!"
"Well you certainly are pretty well prepared for whatever happens, aren't you, Mr. Unwiseman," said Mollie admiringly.
"I like to think so," said the old gentleman. "There's only one thing I've overlooked," he added.
"Wass-that?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"I have most unaccountably forgotten to bring my skates along, and I'm sure I don't know what would happen to me without 'em if by some mischance we ran into an iceberg and I was left aboard of it when the steamer backed away," the Unwiseman remarked.
Here the deck steward came along with a trayful of steaming cups of chicken broth.