“And is it the clouds that do be paping up along beyant the shore line giving ye concern, Jack?” he asked, a bit anxiously.
“Well, I don’t know as they mean much, but all the same I think I’d feel better if we were swinging to our mudhooks back of Key Biscayne,” Jack replied.
“About how far do we chanst to be away, this minute?” the other continued.
“All of ten miles, which would mean an hour’s run for the Comfort. This is the time when she drags us back. George and myself could have made shelter an hour ago, if we had wanted to put on all speed. And I just know George is growling to himself right now, because he has to check his love for racing along.”
Jack had hardly said these words when Jimmy broke out into a laugh.
“Now, that do be a toime when ye are away off, me bhoy,” he remarked.
“In what way, Jimmy?” demanded the skipper, laying his glasses aside, and taking the wheel from the hands of his helper.
“If so ye take a look over to the blissed ould Wireless, upon me worrd ye’ll discover that the bally boat has stopped short. Like enough that ingine has gone back on poor George again, just as it always does when we get in a place where it counts. Yes, he’s beckoning for us to come close. That’s what it must mean, Jack.”
“Whew! that would be tough luck!” muttered Jack, as he changed the course of the little Tramp, and again cast an uneasy look in the direction where those suspicious and dark clouds were shoving their heads above the horizon.
A storm, and the Wireless helpless—the prospect was surely anything but pleasant.