“Go fishing, eh? Well, you can if you like. Something’s wrong with the reverse gear. It may take some time to find the trouble and fix it.”
“Do you want help?” asked Tom, hoping the answer would be in the negative.
“No, thank you. You boys go on and see if you can’t catch a mess of nice fresh red snapper for dinner. It will make a pleasant change.”
Tom flew below to get some stale meat from Jupe for bait, and broad shady hats for himself and Jack.
He was radiant when he reappeared.
“Hurray, Jack, we’ll have a regular picnic. See, I got Jupe to fix us up a lunch, and here’s a jug of water. We might get thirsty.”
“Don’t go too far,” warned Mr. Chadwick, who had come on deck to see the fishing expedition off.
“No danger of that. We’ll be within call. Blow the whistle if you want us.”
Jack referred to the compressed air whistle within the hatch. Its tone was loud and carried far, and it was designed to be used when the White Shark was going through crowded waters on the surface.
“All right, three blasts will be the signal that we are ready.”