“Why do you say that?”
“The ship appears to be lodged hard and fast on a reef or sandspit. I am told the tide is rising. If that is so, our only hope is in the raft which our three allies are now constructing. With a falling tide we might have a breathing-space at low water. As it is, well—”
Christobal, with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, nevertheless waved them. Elsie, whose nervous system at this juncture was proof against any but the last pang of imminent death, could almost have laughed at the queer figure he cut, brandishing his arms and standing awkwardly on the inclined deck. She bent her head to hide the smile on her lips; she noticed that Joey was panting, the use of his teeth on various wet legs during the tussle for the jolly-boat having caused him to swallow more salt-water than he cared for. Elsie’s sympathies were aroused. While assuaging her own thirst she had neglected the dog. She took a carafe of water from its wooden stand near the table, and poured some of the contents into a tumbler. Joey’s thanks were ecstatic. He yelped with delight at the mere thought of a drink.
While the dog was lapping a second supply, the Kansas shifted again with a disconcerting suddenness. The water in the cabin swirled across the floor as the ship was restored to an even keel. The movement dislodged the packet of letters. It fell, and Elsie rescued it a second time. Christobal watched her with undisguised admiration.
“Really,” he said, “I find you wonderful.”
“Why?” Certainly she might be pardoned for seeking an explanation of any compliment just then.
“Why? Por Dios! Excuse me, but that slipped out sideways. Just imagine any woman being able to attend to a dog and pick up a bundle of letters at the very instant the ship appeared to be slipping off into deep water!”
“Is not that the best thing that can happen?”
“My dear young lady, we should sink instantly.”
“How do you know?”