“Well——!” And then Nelson remembered Pickles. He called him but got no answering bark nor sound of scampering feet. Pickles, then, was still below! He turned, deaf to the cries of the mate and the others, and hurried up the canted deck and plunged again into the after cabin.
“Pickles!” he called. “Pickles! Where are you?” And then he heard a whine, and went stumbling, falling into the little compartment where the floor was already an inch deep in sea water. For a moment he couldn’t find the dog, but then another whine led him right and he gathered the frightened animal in his arms and hastened out again, sobbing reassurances and endearments, and all the time panic-stricken with a terror he couldn’t formulate, but that had to do with the amazing fact that his father had not come for him. On deck again, he sped to the side. The little boat was in the water and as his head showed over the rail Mr. Cupples called to him to jump.
“Catch Pickles,” he answered, and dropped the dog. “Is father down there? Are you there, dad?”
But it was Leo who answered. “Sure, he ban here in boat. Yump, Nels!”
Nelson jumped—the distance now was but a few feet—and landed safely between thwarts. [Oars dashed at the water and the boat headed away.] Nelson, recovering himself, peered about. It seemed lighter here than on the schooner’s deck, and it took him but an instant to learn the truth. He leaped to his feet again despairingly.
[Oars dashed at the water and the boat headed away.]
“He isn’t here! You lied to me! Where is he?” he cried.
An arm pulled him back to the seat and Mr. Cupples’ voice came to him from the dimness, broken and husky.