"Yours truly,
"WILL BRADLEY,
"P. L. 9th S. on S. Sea Scouts."
Another letter was from Tenderfoot Coles:
"DEAR SIR,
"We hope you are having a good time on the Spindrift. I hope to have a telegram from you telling Bedford and me to come to Plymouth as soon as possible. The other fellows came here yesterday, so we are pretty lively. I've just fallen overboard. A rope parted as I was hauling up the dinghy. There was no tide running, so I swam to the gangway, and Dexter hauled me up. I've changed and now I'm quite all right. Bedford cut his little finger with a tin-opener. It's not much. Phillips and I bound it up, and this morning it is almost healed.
"Yours Sea-scoutingly,
"EDWARD COLES."
"Two youngsters write about the same incident," thought Mr. Graham. "One omits the most important part—how the accidents occurred and how they resulted. The other gives just the necessary details and no more. Coles will, I fancy, turn out to be a better Patrol Leader than Bradley is. One is practical, and the other is unimaginative. Bradley is a worker, but he has no initiative."
After a long walk along the cliffs, the Sea Scouts returned to the harbour to find the Spindrift lying high and dry, and with a pronounced list to starboard. Fortunately, she was fairly flat-floored and had been fitted with bilge-keels, so there was no cause for anxiety on the score of her not lifting to the rising tide.
Taking off shoes and stockings, the crew dragged their dinghy over the sandy bed of the harbour until they were close enough to secure the painter to the yacht's bumkin. Then, scrambling on board, they made the best of a bad job until the rising tide brought the Spindrift to an even keel.
It was now ten o'clock. Assuming that the tide would be half an hour later on the morrow, Mr. Graham announced that he hoped to get under way sharp at eleven.
"And have a good night's rest, lads," he added. "To-morrow's cruise will be the heaviest of the lot, I fancy. We may not make Penzance until after dark."