“All right,” agreed Dan, “I guess I will. The fact is”—he grinned apologetically—“I’m feeling the motion a bit.”
“I should say you were!” answered Nelson. “You’re as white as a sheet! Go on down and see if you can’t get to sleep.”
“Well—is everything all right?”
“Yes. This is only a squall, I guess. There’s no danger, anyway, although it’ll be pretty wet for awhile.”
Dan went down and Nelson made himself comfortable in the lee of the cabin. It seemed earlier than it really was, but that was due to the clouds and rain squalls. At about six Bob put his head out, with surprise written large on his features.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“Oh, a nice little blow from the sou’west,” answered Nelson. “The old Vagabond thinks she’s doing a Highland fling.”
“How long’s it going to last?” asked Bob, with a dubious look about him.
“Not long, I guess. I hope not, anyhow, for we’re not likely to find a tow while it keeps up. Wake Tommy and get him to start breakfast, will you? A cup of hot coffee might taste nasty, but I don’t think so.”
Bob’s eyes brightened as he drew back out of the wind to awaken the chef and finish dressing; “hot coffee” surely has a grateful sound on a wet deck at six o’clock in the morning. And it tastes a whole lot nicer than it sounds; everyone would have agreed to that half an hour later, especially Nelson, who drank his coffee from a tin cup and ate his bacon and eggs from the top of the cabin, where the end of the tender sheltered the plate from the rain.