She was driving directly into the smother. The girls shut their eyes, and it must be admitted that more than one put their fingers in their ears, for indeed the roar was deafening.
“There are Denny and the man getting into the Dixie!” breathed Cora. “Oh, I am so glad, for it must have been dreadful to row that boat.”
“It was no joke, but Denny likes hard work,” Freda answered. “Now here is where we ride it out!”
Every bit of power was turned on and with one well directed plunge the Chelton was shot through what seemed to be a “comber” as if she had been a submarine.
“Oh!” gasped Cora. Freda dropped into the “V” space at the base of the wheel. Still, she did not take her hands from the spokes. It was a serious moment. What if the boat could not ride those waves? The time it took to get out of the harder waves could not be estimated by the hands of a clock or watch; but in gasping breaths, thumping hearts, pale faces and fears—for boys as well as for girls—it must have been a long, long time.
Finally Freda stood up.
“There!” she exclaimed. “What did I tell you?”
“Sky!” they all shouted, clapping their hands like children.
“And—it—took a girl—to—do it!” exclaimed Jack, who would not have been blamed for hugging Freda had the opportunity offered. Instead, however, he made his way back to the wheel and allowed Freda and Cora a chance to look at their blistered hands, for both girls had been tugging at the spokes.
“Who would believe a storm would end like that?” said Belle, with the relief that comes so quickly upon intense strain.