"Good God!" he burst out.
At eight bells that morning the vernier of the glass had been set at 29.32. With staring eyes, Jack saw that now, little more than two hours later, the mercury had sunk to 27.09,—a drop portentous of a furious gale. For one brief moment, in the face of approaching danger, and filled with a quick sense of his great responsibility, he stood appalled. He put his hand to his forehead as if he were dizzy and found it hard to think.
"How's the glass, Jack?" asked a voice beside him. He turned with troubled eyes to see Tab in his pajamas, a freshly lighted cigarette between his fingers. "What's the trouble?" the mate demanded instantly, seeming bewildered at the captain's appearance.
"What brought you out here?" the captain retorted, though why he should have asked he could not have told.
"Heard you exclaiming. What's the trouble?"
"Look!" Jack answered, pointing to the glass.
"All that!" gasped Jerry.
"Get your togs on," was the only reply Jack offered. "Be quick, and come on deck."
Jerrold left him without a word, and padded off to his cabin. Jack reset the vernier, and went out. To his disturbed mind it seemed as if in the brief interval during which he had been below the whole appearance of nature had grown more ominous. In five minutes Jerry was with him.