"For five hours; less maybe," was the reply. "She's simply mopping up coal on this run. Goodness knows why, 'cause I haven't been pressing her overmuch."
The Old Man nodded. He quite understood. To run the antiquated engines at anything approaching full speed ahead might easily result in the patched-up boilers refusing duty altogether.
"Five hours'll about do," he declared. "Keep her at it, Mr. Jackson."
The Chief Engineer departed. He was not so sure that he could "keep her at it". Under normal conditions the coal taken on board at Pangawani ought to have been more than enough for the round trip. Unaccountably the consumption was much above the average, with the awkward result that the bunkers were nearly empty.
"Pangawani ain't Barry Roads," remarked the Old Man to his charterer. "There isn't a tug at Pangawani; but I'd bet my bottom dollar that, if we were this distance from Cardiff, there'd be a round dozen o' tugs buzzing round an' clamouring to give us a pluck in. No, laddie, we'll have to do it on our own, and we'll jolly well do it, too!"
"Evidently the Old Man's got a 'do or die' spasm," thought Peter, bearing in mind his previous experience with the weak-willed master of the S.S. Quilboma. "Let's hope it will last."
By four in the afternoon the Old Man sang to a different tune. The Quilboma was now within ten miles of Pangawani; but so low was the pressure in her steam-gauges that she was making a bare five knots.
"I'll signal the first old hooker we fall in with and get her to give us a tow," he decided.
"Not much chance of sighting a vessel off Pangawani, is there?" asked Mostyn.
"You never know your luck," quoted the Old Man sententiously, as he stared apprehensively at the storm clouds banking up to wind'ard.