“Oh, you poor child! Why didn’t you say you were getting wet?”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” was the brave answer.
“But you must,” insisted Cora. “Here, put this on,” and from a forward locker she pulled an oilskin coat, flinging it back to Marita, as at that moment the boat yawed when a big wave hit the bows, necessitating a firm hand on the wheel.
“Oh, it’s getting rough!” exclaimed Lottie, apprehensively.
“Put away your nail-buffer and hang on,” advised Bess. “It may be rougher before it’s calmer.”
“I—I wish I hadn’t come,” mourned Lottie.
“You aren’t going to be ill, I hope,” said Cora, quickly.
“No, but my dress may be all spotted——”
“Here, take this,” offered Marita.
“No, indeed, you keep that,” said Cora, quickly. “There are more in the lockers. Belle, will you get them out? It is a bit rough out here.”