He turned to the sailor who was running the tender's engine and spoke sharply.
"Go to that other blind!"
The sailor sprang to the wheel and the tender shot ahead. Stuart settled back in his seat with angry disgust, and Bivens laughed.
"Cheer up, it's no use to give orders for a funeral yet. If we can't get back to that yacht in fifteen minutes against any wind that blows to-day, I'll eat my hat. I'm feeling better than I have for months. I'm in for a good time. Don't be a piker."
Stuart determined to make the best of it.
"All right," he answered cheerfully.
"I'll be responsible for any trouble that comes, so don't you worry."
"You're not in New York now, Cal," Stuart said with a grunt. "You may own the earth, but the sea still has a way of its own."
"Good Lord, man, I could walk back to the yacht at low water, it all goes bare."
"Yes, unless the wind hauls in to the northeast and rolls in a big tide through that inlet."