"Looks as though we were running into a storm and you'd better get your breakfast before we strike," his uncle told them.
"Don't hear any wind," Jack said as he jumped up.
"There isn't a breath of air stirring."
"Then what makes you think it's going to blow?" Bob asked.
"That's the way they start down here. Better get a hustle on. Breakfast's all ready."
"We'll be there in two shakes of a dog's tail," Bob told him as he turned and left the cabin.
"Gee, but it's hot," Jack declared pulling on his trowsers.
"Hotter'n love in haying time," Bob agreed. "But I suppose we've got to expect that sort of thing down here. We're pretty near the equator you know."
As they emerged on deck three minutes later, a peculiar sensation struck both at the same instant. As their uncle had said, not a breath of air seemed stirring and the surface of the sea was like that of a mill pond, not so much as a ripple breaking its smoothness. The sun was half obscured by a thin haze, while, apparently rising from the ocean in the west, a low lying, dirty looking tank of clouds, caught their attention.
"Looks as though there might be some wind in them," Bob said pointing to the west.