"Don't do it, sir," said Desmond in a low voice. "We'll be all right without having to pay that."
"Sorry, nothing doing!" replied the Scoutmaster, then turning to the Patrol Leader he added: "Desmond, you're a brick!"
The skipper of the drifter pulled up the window of the wheelhouse with a savage jerk, that implied plainly enough what he thought of Mr. Graham.
"Carry on, lads!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "Up with the staysail!"
As the flapping canvas rose, the skipper of the drifter lowered the pane and thrust his head through the window.
"Ahoy!" he bawled. "Make it twenty. It's 'ard earned money."
Mr. Graham shook his head.
"Fifteen, then; I likes to do a good turn to a fellow in distress."
"No, not for five pounds," shouted the Scoutmaster resolutely. "We don't want any assistance, thank you." The engine-room telegraph bell clanged, and the drifter began to draw astern. The crew of the Spindrift paid slight attention to her: they were busy at their own job.
Under reefed staysail, the yacht paid off, and began to gather way. The setting of the jib helped still more, so that with three sails drawing well she began to make a good three knots.