“Well, I feel as though I belonged on them—here we are shipwrecked and floating around like a beach party, conversing as quietly as though it were the most ordinary occurrence to book agents and damsel seekers!”
“There is no use in getting in a stew. I have a feeling that the Germans are going to pick us up. They are heading this way and I don’t reckon they will let us sink before their eyes. If they don’t pick us up, we are good for many hours of this play. I feel as fresh as a daisy.”
“Same here!”
“Thank God, there weren’t any women and children on board!” said Kent fervently.
“Yes, I was feeling that all the time. I’d hate to think of their being in those crazy boats.”
The German boat was quite close to them now. The deck was filled with men, all of them evidently in great good humour with themselves and Fate because of the terrible havoc they had played with the poor Hirondelle de Mer, who was now at her last gasp, the waves washing over her upper decks.
“Wei gehts?” shouted Jim, raising himself up far in the water and wigwagging violently at the death dealing vessel.
It was only a short time before the efficient crew had Kent and Jim on board, in dry clothes and before an officer. The fact that they were Americans was beyond dispute, but their business on the other side was evidently taken with a grain of salt by the very keen looking, alert young man who questioned them in excellent English.
Jim was quite glib with his book agent tale. He got off a line of talk about the albums that almost convulsed Kent.
“Why were you going to Paris to sell such things? Would a country at war be a good field for such an industry?”