"So much the better; let us go on deck."
"And my story?"
"Can be continued later on; I am to know yet how the Indian's widow became your wife."
Wharton preceded the ladies to the deck. He knew his ship and had no fears. The weather was magnificent and the vessel's sails were swelled by the breeze. Clary looked in every direction to catch a glimpse of the Ice Bird, but could not see it.
"Captain, where is the Ice Bird?" she said, turning to Wharton.
"The Ice Bird? It's far behind. How could it compare in speed with the Crocodile?"
"Are you sure of it?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Please ask one of the sailors!"
Wharton did so, and was astonished when he was told that the "peanut-shell," as he called the Ice Bird, made twenty-three knots an hour, whereas the Crocodile made only twelve. The long face he made at this announcement caused Clary to burst into a loud laugh.