“Yes, indeed. Much obliged.”
“You’re welcome. An’ say!”
“Yes,” answered Bob, pausing again.
“That boy o’ mine’s about the forgetfulest you ever saw. If you capsize, just remind him to swim, will you? Like as not he wouldn’t think of it till it was too late.”
Bob agreed laughingly, and the fisherman turned back gravely to his work. When they got to the little pier, Will was awaiting them in the rowboat. They piled in and were rowed out to the sloop. Once on board, Will showed to better advantage. He closed his mouth and looked almost intelligent, although Nelson confided to Bob that if it came on a blow he thought the best thing to do would be to pitch Will overboard and sail themselves. Will cast off the mooring, hoisted the mainsail with Nelson’s assistance, and they drifted out of the cove. Once around the point of the land, the breeze filled the sail and they moved more briskly. Will put up the jib then, and the boys made themselves comfortable. Dan and Nelson stretched themselves out in the lee of the sail, and Bob and Tom remained in the little cockpit, the former trying to engage Will in conversation. But Will was not brilliant at that, and his replies to the other’s questions consisted invariably of “No,” “Yes,” and “I guess so.”
There was a fair, if somewhat fluky, breeze out of the south, and after they had crept through the narrows between the mainland and Shelter Island it was a matter of short tacking. The sun had gone in under the light clouds, and Nelson cast frequent glances about them.
“What are you looking for?” asked Dan lazily.
“Squalls,” was the answer. “And we’ll get them before long unless I’m mistaken.”
“Can’t cut much ice in here, can they?”