“Go ahead, Grandpa,” Wessler said with a shrug. “Heave out your bottles if it will keep you happy.”
As Old Noah began to toss the bottles out of the porthole, Wessler again ordered Penny and Louise from the cabin.
“Upstairs!” he said, giving them a shove toward the stairway.
Penny glanced quickly toward shore. The gangplank had been raised, but the distance was not great.
As if reading her mind, Wessler said: “I wouldn’t try to make a leap for it if I were you, little lady. Behave yourself, and you’ll be set free before morning.”
Penny and Louise were forced to go upstairs to the third floor of the ark. Although Old Noah’s living quarters were more comfortable than the bird room, they provided less privacy. Wessler and his companion remained on the floor, and not a word could the girls speak without being overheard.
Old Noah soon appeared. In a much better mood, he chatted with the two men. Finding them uncommunicative, he picked up his banjo and began to sing spirituals to its accompaniment. His voice, as cracked as the fingers which strummed the strings, drove Breneham into a near frenzy.
“There’s a limit to what a guy can stand,” he said meaningly to Wessler.
“It won’t be much longer now,” the other encouraged, glancing at his watch.
“Why can’t we pull the job now and get out?”