The ferryboat indeed had maneuvered so that the current would swing the drifting craft directly toward it.
Five minutes later, wet and bedraggled, the three stranded sailors scrambled up a lowered ladder onto the River Queen’s slippery deck. A few curious passengers who braved the rain, stared curiously at them as they sought shelter.
“Well, if it isn’t Jack Gandiss, and in trouble again!” boomed Captain Barker, owner of the ferry. He was a short, stubby, red-faced man, with twinkling blue eyes. “What happened this time? Engine conk out?”
“We ran out of gas,” the boy admitted briefly. “Thanks for picking us up.”
“Better thank Sally here,” replied the captain, giving orders for the motorboat to be taken in tow. “It was her sharp eyes that picked you up out o’ the storm.”
Penny turned to see a dark-haired girl of her own age standing in the doorway of the pilot house. In oilskin hat and coat, one easily might have mistaken her for a boy. Impatiently she brushed aside a strand of wet hair which straggled from beneath the ugly headgear, and came out on the rain-swept deck.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Jack!” she chortled, enjoying the boy’s discomfiture. “Imagine an old tar like you running out of gas!”
“Never mind the cracks!” he retorted grimly. “Just go back to your knitting!”
Turning her back upon Jack, Sally studied Penny with curious interest.
“Do I know you?” she inquired.