“Hello!”
I did not answer. I took it for granted that the call was not addressed to me. It came probably, from the beach at the Point, and might be Mrs. Small hailing her husband, though it did not sound like her voice. Several minutes went by before it was repeated. Then I heard it again and nearer.
“Hello! Hello-o-o! Where are you?”
That was not Mrs. Small, certainly. Unless I was away off in my reckoning the Point was at my right, and the voice sounded to the left. It must come from some craft afloat in the bay, though before the fog set in I had seen none.
“Hello-o! Hello, the motor boat!”
“Hello!” I answered. “Boat ahoy! Where are you?”
“Here I am.” The voice was nearer still. “Where are you? Don't run into me.”
I shifted my helm just a bit and peered ahead. I could see nothing. The fog was thicker than ever; if that were possible.
“Where are you?” repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the hail came from the right this time.
“Don't move!” I shouted. “Stay where you are. I will keep shouting . . . LOOK OUT!”