And out into the storm they went again, buoyant and ready.
Chapter Seventeen FACING THE MUSIC
"Well," Tab said, "I'll see you as far as the door for fear you'll bolt. You're a sight nearer funking than I ever saw you, Jacko. You must have your nerve with you if you don't want to come out of the little end of the horn."
"I feel small enough to go through it," Jack retorted.
"Oh, that's all right. Just take a brace, and"—
"Humph!" snorted the captain. "It's all well enough for you to snoozle round and give me advice, but if you had to face Uncle Randolph yourself, you wouldn't be so chipper, let me tell you!"
The young men were crossing Atlantic Avenue not far from the East Boston Ferry. They had at last, sea-weary and glad of land, made harbor on the previous evening. Jack had hardly waited for the anchor to be down before he had sent off in haste for his European letters, intrusting the messenger to post a voluminous epistle on which he had written industriously at intervals all the way over; and for half the night he had read and reread Katrine's missives, giving Jerry tantalizing bits now and then, with messages from Mrs. Fairhew enjoining him not again to aid and abet Jack in any nefarious schemes. In the morning the crew had been paid off generously, and given passages on the City of Rockland. Then Gonzague had been left in charge of the yacht, and now, with feelings curiously mixed, the captain was bound for the office of his uncle for the inevitable reckoning with the owner of the stolen Merle.