Tony was already gently urging Mr. Barker out of his office toward the tug.
“A few miles beyond the breakwater, to begin with,” Tony replied. “If we can’t see them, we shall have to cruise around till we pick them up.”
“Thirty dollars is what it will cost you,” Mr. Barker declared. “And, see here,” he added, “if I fetch them youngsters in I don’t want to hear any more o’ that nonsense about salvage money for bringing in the Grace and Ella. They’ve been to a lawyer about it, and he’s pestering me for five hundred dollars and threatening suit. If my tug gives their sloop a tow back now, I shall reckon we’re quits, understand? But if the tug don’t pick ’em up, it’ll cost you thirty dollars; see?”
“Yes, yes,” said Tony, willing to agree to almost anything, reasonable or unreasonable, so long as the Simon P. Barker put off without further delay.
Mr. Barker instructed Burke, the tug’s skipper, to consider himself under Tony’s orders. Tony slipped on board, with Cap’n Crumbie at his heels, and the moorings were cast off.
“Glad you’re coming along, Cap’n,” said Tony. “Another pair of eyes may be useful.”
“By gravy!” the watchman exclaimed. “I’d ha’ been rowing out soon, if I couldn’t ha’ found any other way o’ getting there!”
Rain had begun to fall by the time the tug got beyond the breakwater. Burke steered in the direction of Knife Rock buoy, where by now even the tug felt the choppiness of the sea. Nothing could be seen of the sloop, however.
“Maybe they’ve run for shelter to some place down the coast,” Tony suggested.