“What’ll we do?” Skippy cried. “Gee, what’ll we do?”
“We’ll be swimmin’ for it, kid,” Big Joe answered, his face ashen and drawn. “Inland Beach’s nearest—we’ll be swimmin’ it in a half hour, takin’ it aisy like.”
“Easy! In this water and wind?”
“Skippy, don’t be worryin’. Sure and I ain’t goin’ to see ye go down. I’ll be keepin’ ye up if it takes me life.”
Suddenly Skippy turned, pleading. Big Joe knew and his eyes dropped before the boy’s accusing gaze.
“And what can I be doin’ about the Davy Jones now, kid!” he protested “I got ye to be thinkin’ about now.... Sufferin’ swordfish!” He groaned.
“Then we gotta swim to Inland Beach as fast as we can, Big Joe,” Skippy said, master of himself once more. “We gotta get help right away for the Davy Jones!”
“Sure, sure,” the big fellow moaned, “anythin’, kid, only don’t be lookin’ at me so accusin’. Did I know it was goin’ to happen like this? Sufferin’ swordfish!”
“C’mon, Big Joe—c’mon!”
They had no sooner jumped clear of the boat than she sank out of sight. A terrific gale blew them along and Skippy kept close to Tully, buoyed up by the thought that he must keep going in order to get help for the Davy Jones.