“They don’t seem to see him. Besides, they’re past him now, and it would be risky to turn back. I can easily pass near him.”
The man, who was in a power-driven dory, was waving and shouting now, but the wind carried his words away. He seemed to be in some difficulty.
“Why doesn’t he row in out of the storm?” asked Bess.
“Perhaps he has lost his oars,” suggested Eline.
“Maybe that is the trouble,” remarked Cora. “Well, we’ll soon see.”
She changed the course of the Pet, though it was a bit risky for the seas were quartering now, and the spray came aboard in salty sheets. But the girls could not get much wetter.
Cora slowed down her engine by means of a throttle control that extended up near the wheel. She veered in toward the tossing dory.
“What is it?” she cried. “What’s the matter?”
“Out of gasoline! Can you lend me a bit so I can run in? I came out to lift my lobster pots, but it’s too rough.”
“Gasoline? Yes, we have plenty,” said Cora. “I’ll give you some.”