"Starboard ten," ordered the Milford Patrol Leader, addressing Flemming, who was at the wheel.
The Olivette was now heading straight for the drifting boat. The solitary occupier seemed utterly unaware of the motor-boat's approach, but sat on the stroke thwart, nursing his head.
"Perhaps he's deaf, sir," hazarded Findlay.
"No, sea-sick," rejoined Mr. Graham, handing Jock his binoculars. "His face is green—absolutely. A tripper adrift most likely."
"Ahoy!" shouted Woodleigh, holding up a coil of rope. "Do you want a tow?"
The fellow raised his head and gazed pathetically at the Olivette. He gave no sign that he was at all anxious to be aided.
"Why, he's only a boy," declared Findlay.
"A pretty hefty one," supplemented Desmond.
"What shall we do, sir?" asked Woodleigh.
"Get him on board and take the boat in tow," replied Mr. Armitage. "Stand by one of you to grab her painter."