“Well,” the skipper drawled, “I guess the wind won’t take the hair off a body; an’ I ’low we can make Conch afore the worst of it.”
“I’m with the skipper,” said Billy Topsail.
“Me, too,” said Jimmie Grimm.
Bagg had nothing to say; he seldom had, poor fellow! in a gale of wind.
“I’ve a telegram to send,” said Archie.
It was a message of apology. Archie went ashore with a lighter heart to file it. What an 242 unkindly suspicious fool he had been! he reflected, heartily ashamed of himself.
“Something for you, sir,” said the agent.
Sir Archibald’s telegram was put in the boy’s hand; and when this had been read aboard the Spot Cash––and when the schooner had rounded Cape John and was taking full advantage of a sudden change of wind to the southwest––Archie and the skipper and the crew felt very well indeed, thank you!
It blew hard in the afternoon––harder than Bill o’ Burnt Bay had surmised. The wind had a slap to it that troubled the little Spot Cash. Crested seas broke over her bows and swept her deck. She was smothered in white water half the time. The wind was rising, too. It was to be a big gale from the southeast. It was already half a gale. There was wind enough for the Spot Cash. Much more would shake and drown her like a chip. Bill o’ Burnt Bay, at the wheel, and the crew, forward and amidships, kept watch for the coast and the friendly landmarks of harbour. But what with wind and fog and rain it was a disheartening business.