Mrs. Bascom moved. Seth turned to the “inventor.”
“Come for'ard with me,” he ordered. “Here! this way! for'ard! FOR'ARD!”
He seized his companion by the arm and pulled him toward the bow. The frightened genius held back.
“What in time is the matter with you?” snarled the lightkeeper. “Are your feet asleep? Come!”
Bennie D. came, under compulsion. Seth half led, half dragged him to the bow, and, bending down, uncoiled a rope and put it in his hands.
“Them's the jib halliards,” he explained. “Haul on 'em quick and hard as you can. If we can h'ist the jib we can get some steerage way on her, maybe. Haul! haul till you can't haul no more. Then hang on till I come back and make fast.”
He rushed back to the wheel. The tiller ropes were new, and he could trust them, fortunately. From the cabin hatchway emerged Mrs. Bascom bearing the lighted lantern.
“Good!” snapped Seth. “Now we can see what we're doin' and, if we show a glim, maybe we won't run down no more dories. You go for'ard and—No, you take this wheel and hold it just as 'tis. JUST as 'tis; understand? I'll be back in a jiffy. What in thunder's the matter with that foolhead at the jib?”
He seized the lantern and rushed to the bow. Bennie D. had dropped the halliard and was leaning over the rail screaming for help.
Seth hoisted the jib himself, made it fast, and then turned his attention to the mutinous hand.