"That may be so," assented Gerald.
"Here comes Mr. Selkirk, with trouble written on every line of his face as plainly as A B C. Well, Mr. Selkirk, what's amiss now?"
Selkirk, the chief engineer, was a Scotsman whose whole existence seemed bound up in his beloved motors. He was a comparatively young man, with thin drawn features and a crop of sandy hair. When off duty he possessed a vein of dry humour that belied the oft-repeated statement that a man born north of the Tweed can never appreciate a joke; but while on duty his attention to his particular work was beyond reproach.
"No. 3 propeller on port side, sir," he exclaimed. "Wurkin' a wee bit loose."
"Then disconnect the shafting," replied Captain Brookes.
"Will ye no stop the ship awhile, sir. Wi' the shaft at rest the propeller may hauld on, but I ha' ma douts. An' ye'll call to mind we've no spare wan."
"In that case we'll haul it aboard. It's the best thing to be done, Mr. Selkirk. How long do you think it will take the divers to unkey it?"
"A matter of twa hoors, sir."
"Then carry on. I'll give orders to bring-to. Mr. Slade, tell the bo's'un's mate to warn the diving party for duty."
By this time the Olive Branch had outrun the storm, though by the erratic behaviour of the mercury there was every reason to expect a repetition of the gale. Nevertheless, there was a long heavy sea on, so that the task of shipping the defective propeller was hazardous both to the divers and the working party on deck.