“Well, I guess not!” said Arnold indignantly. “If Toby and I can’t get this boat in we’ll stay out all night!”
“Yes, but I don’t want to stay out all night,” laughed Phebe. “And you needn’t think I can’t row. I’ve done it plenty of times. Once Toby and I had to row all the way home from Riverport Neck, and the boat was lots heavier than this one, too.”
“Yes, Phebe can swing an oar all right,” agreed Toby. “Wonder what’s become of all the launches that were in sight half an hour ago. They’ve all cleaned out for home, I guess. Well, they wouldn’t want to tow us much anyway. There comes the fog. We’ll be in it in a minute. I hate fog. It makes you feel so damp and soggy. How’s it coming, Arn?”
“Oh, fine,” grunted the other, pushing heroically at his oar. “How far do you suppose we’ve gone?”
Toby laughed. “About two hundred yards, I guess,” he answered. “We haven’t begun yet.”
“Is that all? Look here, that breeze is pushing us a little. So why not wait until the breeze stops before rowing? Maybe we won’t have to row at all!”
“That breeze,” answered Toby, “isn’t strong enough to move us a mile an hour, Arn. Keep her the way she heads, Phebe.”
Then the fog rolled over them and the last glimpse of the land was lost to view. For a few minutes the sunlight crept through the bank of haze, tinging it amber. Then the amber turned to gray as the fog thickened. From here and there, at intervals, fog-horns sounded and, at Toby’s suggestion, Phebe got the Aydee’s horn out and, turning the handle now and then, evoked a most excruciatingly horrible wail.
“There isn’t much danger of being run into,” said Toby, “for the launches have all hiked for port, but the law says you’ve got to sound your horn. Say, Arn, did you ever get that compass you sent for?”
“No, and we ought to have it, too, eh?”