“No, an’, dog-gone it, maybe you never will!” snapped Cap’n Crumbie. “It’s miles away, out to sea,” he went on, waving his arm vaguely over toward the ocean. “If those two kids don’t get drownded it’ll be a wonder.”
“They’re in the sloop?” asked Martin, with peculiar concern.
“Aye, fishing, and been blown to anywhere by now.”
Then he stopped suddenly, his eyes having alighted on the tug Simon P. Barker, which lay alongside the adjoining wharf, with smoke emerging from her stack. The Simon P. Barker was the only tug in Greenport. Cap’n Crumbie cordially disliked Mr. Barker. In fact, he would have done almost anything in the wide world rather than ask Mr. Barker to do him a favor. But personal likes and dislikes had to be sunk, in such an emergency as this. The watchman stood, running his hand through his stubbly beard for a minute, and then stumped off toward the little office.
“Well!” the ship-owner demanded, looking up as Cap’n Crumbie entered. He was not in a particularly pleasant frame of mind this morning.
“Guess young Holden and the other lad must be in trouble,” said the Cap’n gruffly. “They’ve gone out fishing, and maybe they’ll have difficulty getting back.”
“Well, what about it?” asked the ship-owner.
“The tug ain’t doing anything. Can’t you send it out after ’em?”