“Why, the wind’s gone right down,” he said. “That’s fine!”
The sloop, which had been canting over on her side while ashore, now lay almost on an even keel. Jack, armed with the boat-hook, and George with a pole which had been picked up from the beach in anticipation of this moment, leaned over the side when the Sea-Lark began to rock slightly, and without much difficulty they got her afloat once more. Up went the mainsail and jib, and away the sloop ran, in the direction of the shore which Jack had observed from the top of the rock. In half an hour they raised land, and not long after that their craft was nuzzling one of the pile wharves in Bristow harbor.
“I’ve got just a dollar and fifteen cents,” said Jack, turning out his pockets. “How much have you?”
“A dime.”
“We’ll manage all right. First of all we ought to telephone to Greenport. You’d better speak to your mother.”
They found a telephone booth near the harbor, and presently with Jack standing by his side, George was talking over the wire.
“Hello,” he said. “Is that you, Mother?... We’re at Bristow.... No, we haven’t got drowned yet.... Yes, we’re all right. You might tell Mr. Holden.... I’m jolly hungry, that’s all.... Well, it was a bit rough but you needn’t have worried.... No, everything’s all right, really.... We’re going to sleep on the boat here to-night, and if the weather holds good we’ll sail back in the morning.... Yes, thanks, a dollar and a quarter between us, and we sha’n’t need any more.... In the paper! Our pictures! Oh, crickey!... All right, Mother. See you in the morning. G’by.
“Oh, splash!” he exclaimed, hanging up the receiver. “That’s done it! Jack, we’re dead and drowned and given up for lost, and in the ‘Greenport Gazette’ as corpses, and half the town’s almost in mourning for us already.”
“Two eggs,” Jack was saying, already hurrying his chum away by the arm; “no, three eggs, and bacon. Lots of bacon. And toast and butter. And coffee, and—”
“Stop it! you’re making my mouth water,” protested George. “Here’s a place to get eats.”