“Well, try to be as cheerful as we can, then. Getting in the dumps about it won’t help matters any.”
But Tom sat silently in the stern of the boat until he grew so sleepy that Jack told him to lie down and cover himself with the sail and take a nap.
“I’ll tell you when to relieve guard,” he said.
Tom looked ashamed of himself. Jack’s tenderness touched him and made him realize how cross and selfish he had been, while Jack was trying to bear up amidst their troubles.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” he said contritely, holding out his hand.
That was all, but Jack understood and clasped the proffered hand warmly.
“Now lie down, old chap, and get some sleep. Let’s hope that by the time you wake up things will have improved.”
Tom crawled under the canvas of the sail and in a jiffy was off in dreamland. It appeared to be not more than ten minutes later that he was aroused by somebody throwing a bucket of water over his head. At least that was the way it appeared to Tom. He sat up angrily, not at first realizing where he was.
He saw Jack regarding him amusedly. The fog had gone and in its place a brisk breeze blew, whipping the sea into small waves. One of these had just broken in spray against the bow and given Tom his morning bath in such an unceremonious manner.
“Any sign?” asked Tom, as he saw what appeared to be a look of hope on Jack’s face.