“I’d like to know your name, please,” replied Gerald, smiling.
“Oh, my name? My name’s Hallet, Second Officer.”
“Thank you,” answered Gerald. “We’re very much obliged to you.”
“You’re welcome. Say, that’s a fine looking little launch there. Glad we didn’t rip her up, boys. Over with you, please.”
The Dart, apparently unscathed, although later Gerald found a long smear of black paint along the side where the steamer had grazed, was rocking quietly enough in the little oily waves as the sailors paddled the rowboat alongside. Gerald had thrown the clutch out before he jumped overboard, but the engine was still running. One by one the boys climbed across to the wet, fog-drenched cockpit.
“Good luck,” called their rescuer. “Keep your whistle going. Give way, men.”
The small boat disappeared into the fog, the crew of The Dart waving good-by. Then, “Harry, you and Kendall go down there and get your wet clothes off,” said Gerald. “You’ll find towels in the bottom of the right-hand locker. Rub yourself dry and put some blankets around you. I’ll stay here and keep the horn going until you get fixed up.”
“What’s the matter with you doing it?” asked Harry. “You’re as wet as I am.”
“You do as I say,” replied Gerald shortly. “I’m boss on this ship. Hurry up now!”
Kendall’s teeth chattered so as he pulled and tugged at his wet garments that Harry became alarmed and went to his assistance. But when they had rubbed their bodies into a glow with the coarse bath towels they felt rather better for their bath than worse. They took Gerald’s place on deck and he disappeared to follow the same course of treatment. The discarded clothing was wrung out and hung about to dry if it would, and the three mariners, attired in gray blankets, presented a ludicrous appearance.