The Third Officer complacently stroked the stubbly growth of hair that completely hid his cheeks and chin.
"For the matter of that," he observed, "a pair of scissors will do the trick when we get back to civilization."
"But your beard is red, not tawny," countered Hilda laughingly. "But don't worry about that, Mr. Burgoyne. I think I prefer you as you were on board the Donibristle—clean-shaven. That is from an appearance point of view. Just now you look a bit of a ruffian, but you're splendid. I shall never be able to thank you sufficiently for all the danger you have gone through—and the others as well, of course—to get me away from the island."
"It's jolly good of you to say that, Miss Vivian," said Alwyn. "We've got you clear of the island, it's true, but we are by no means out of the wood yet. Now: ready for something to eat?"
Telling Minalto to take the tiller Alwyn prepared the girl's breakfast. In the absence of a knife or a tin-opener the bully-beef tin had to be battered open with a rowlock, since, as is almost invariably the case, the patent opener provided failed utterly in its predestined mission. The biscuits, too, had long lost their crispness, and the water, notwithstanding the addition of a small quantity of lime-juice, was decidedly "cloudy" owing to the continuous motion of the boat. In default of a plate the beef had to be spread out on a piece of canvas which Burgoyne had washed by trailing over the side; while a total deficiency of cutlery resulted in the application of nature's knives and forks.
Yet Hilda enjoyed the rough-and-ready repast. She was naturally a high-spirited girl, passionately fond of an open-air life, and the novelty of the situation appealed to her. Burgoyne thought she looked the picture of health, with her finely-modelled features, of rich bronze hue by reason of exposure to the sun and rain, her closely-bobbed hair, and her mirth-loving eyes. Even her present costume suited her, the canvas jumper and the battered straw hat setting off to perfection her slim figure and the naturally graceful poise of her head.
For the four or five hours all went well with the Argonauts, but about midday the breeze died utterly away and the boat drifted idly with her sails drooping listlessly from the yards. The heat was terrific. Almost overhead the sun blazed down mercilessly, while the reflected rays from the mirror-like ocean seemed almost as hot as the sunshine itself.
With the paint blistering and the woodwork too hot to touch comfortably the boat was like a small furnace. Even the water left in the lands and bilges quickly disappeared, throwing out a noxious-smelling vapour.
Leaving one man to keep watch, the rest of the crew sat under hastily-devised awnings over which salt water was frequently poured in the hope that the rapid evaporation would lower the temperature under the canvas. Sleep was an impossibility; speech became a matter of difficulty, for even frequent small draughts of water failed to keep their throats from being parched and dry. Sweltering in the enervating heat they existed listlessly, their jangled nerves still further jarred by the monotonous slatting of the canvas and the steady thud of the yards against the gently-swaying masts.
Suddenly Mostyn, whose turn it was to keep a lookout, startled the others by shouting: