“Shut up!” he bellowed, catching him by the arm. “Who do you cal'late's goin' to hear you? Shut up! You come with me. I want you to pump. The old craft would do well enough if she was tight, but she's more'n likely takin' water like a sieve. You come and pump.”
But Bennie had no notion of pumping. With a jerk he tore loose from the lightkeeper's grasp and ran to the stern, where he continued his howls for help.
Seth was at his heels.
“Stop that, I tell you,” he commanded angrily. “It don't do no good. If you don't want to go to the bottom you'll work that pump. Don't be such a clown.”
The frantic genius paid no attention. His sister-in-law left the wheel and put her hand on his shoulder. “Please, Bennie,” she pleaded. “Please do as he says. He knows, and—”
Bennie D. pushed her backward with savage force. “Mind your own business,” he yelled with an oath. “'Twas your foolishness got me into this.” Then, leaning over the rail, he called shrilly, “He—lp! I'm drowning! Help!”
Mrs. Bascom staggered back against the wheel, which Seth had seized the instant she deserted it. “Oh!” she said, “you hurt me.”
Her husband freed an arm and put it about her. “Are you much hurt, Emeline?” he asked sharply.
“No—o. No, Seth. I—I guess I ain't really hurt at all.”
“Good! Then you take this wheel and hold her just so. That's it. AND DON'T YOU DROP IT AGAIN. I'll attend to this feller.”