“But——” Desmond hesitated. “The sail may not bear any weight—neither may the rope itself.”
“The ropes seem good enough—they’re light, but strong,” Jim said. “As for the sail—well, it looks pretty tough; the framework is iron. We can haul on it and test it a bit. I’d sooner risk it than be caught here, old man.”
“Well—I’m going first,” Desmond said.
“That you’re not—it’s my own little patent idea,” Jim retorted. “Just you play fair, you old reprobate. Look—they keep a sort of boathook thing here, to catch the rope when the arm is turning—very thoughtful and handy. You’ll easily get it back with that.”
He was knotting the two ropes as he spoke, testing them with all his strength.
“There—that will hold,” he said. “Now we’ll let her go.”
He untied the mooring-rope, and very slowly the great sails began to revolve. They tugged violently as the arm bearing the rope mounted, and drew it back; it creaked and groaned, but the rope held, and nothing gave way. Jim turned his face to Desmond on the narrow platform.
“I’m off!” he said. “No end of a jolly lark, isn’t it? Hold her till I get on the railing.”
“Jim—if it’s too short!”
“Well, I’ll know all about that in a minute,” said Jim with a short laugh. “So long, old chap: I’ll be waiting below, to catch you when you bounce!”