“All right, I think. What boat’s this?”
“Q-4. Where’d you come from?”
“Don’t be bothering the lad with questions, Terry. He’s down and out, I’ll bet.”
“I feel pretty fair, thanks,” said Nelson. “I belong on the Gyandotte. I was on lookout last night—is it morning now?” The man nodded. “Last night it was, then. Something happened. Maybe a boat blew off the davits. Anyway, I went overboard. After awhile I caught hold of this boat and hung on. I shouted, but I thought you didn’t hear me. Then someone flashed a light and I woke up down here. That’s about all.”
“And it’s plenty, kid! You were all in when they grabbed you. How long were you in the water?”
“How does he know?” asked one of the others with deep disgust. “Suppose he looked at his watch and timed himself? Sit down here, you chuckle-head, and sop up your coffee and leave the lad be.”
“Out o’ my way, Terry!” The cook thrust a cup of coffee into Nelson’s hand and added sugar. “Kid,” he said, “you won the long-distance rough-and-tumble record last night, all right! One of you fellows tell the luff the boy’s awake. He wants to speak to him.”
“Ay, ay, Cookie! Cut some more bread while I’m gone, will you?” One of the men arose and disappeared through the after door. Nelson propped himself on an elbow and stirred his coffee.
“The storm’s all over, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Is it, then?” said the cook. “You wouldn’t think so if you was up above. It was blowin’ about seventy when we left.”