“My—godfreys! Do you mean to say—? From Denboro? Out of gasolene! Why—why, you've got sail up!”
“Nothing but a tarpaulin on an oar.”
“And you've been cruisin' all night? Through the fog—the squall—and all?”
“Yes,” wearily, “yes—yes—yes.”
“But—but ain't you drownded?”
“Not quite. If you don't let go of that rail we shall be soon.”
“Driftin' all night! Ain't you wet through?”
“Yes. Might I suggest that we postpone the rest of the catechism until we reach—the lock-up?”
This suggestion apparently was accepted. Our captor suddenly became very much alive.
“Give me a line,” he ordered. “Anchor rope'll do. Where is it? up for'ard?”