"Another couple of hours will find us home, Hoppy, old man," exclaimed Terence cheerily, as he entered the cabin. "But it does blow."
"So I should think," replied Ellerton. "But how is she behaving?"
"Like a cork; we've only had the tail end of a couple of seas aboard. Well, cheer up! Make yourself at home and wish you were," and with this pleasantry Terence returned to keep Andy company.
Each time the yawl breasted the summit of a wave, the peak of McKay's Island could be seen rearing its head above the waste of storm-tossed waters. Each time it did so it appeared to be getting nearer.
Andy knew that there was danger ahead, but he forebore to mention the fact to his chum.
The "back-wash" from the terrible reef, with its accompaniment of a tumble of dangerous cross-seas, had to be encountered, and the risky passage through the coral barrier made at all costs.
For half-an-hour more the seas, though high, were comparatively regular, but at the expiration of that time the dinghy, which was being towed astern, was filled by a vicious comber. The dead weight of the water-logged craft caused the stout painter to snap like pack-thread, and the next instant the tender was lost to view in the turmoil of foaming water.
"Can't we go back for her?" shouted Terence, for the howling of the wind made ordinary conversation inaudible.
"Impossible!" replied his chum. "She would be swamped before we hauled to the wind. Besides, the dinghy's done for."
"It's a rotten look-out. We shall miss her."