"No good doing that now," objected Roche; "she'd fill on the rising tide. Besides, if there's much of a bore here, she'd be damaged still more. You stand by here, old thing, and I'll give you a spell at the pump."
"We're nearly there," announced the Tenderfoot. "Who's going to pick up the moorings?"
Leaving Flemming at the reversing-lever, Roche "knocked off" pumping and went on deck. Boat-hook in hand, he waited to make a grasp at the mooring-buoy, to which was attached the water-logged planks and timbers of what had been a smart, serviceable dinghy.
"I bet that kid makes a bog of it," soliloquized Roche, who knew from personal experience how easy it is to blunder in picking up moorings.
But his fears were groundless. With a confidence inspired by previous success, Phil brought the Olivette to a standstill within a couple of feet of the mooring-buoy.
"Got it!" yelled Dick as he fished the cork float on board and took a turn round the bitts with the chain-bridle.
"Finished with the engines," shouted the Tenderfoot.
Flemming cut off the ignition. The motor clanked into a state of somnolence; then, having turned off the feed to the carburetter, Eric devoted his attention to the bilge-pump once more.
Presently Roche came below.
"There's not a sign of the others," he announced. "What on earth can have happened to them, I wonder? It's nearly half-past one."