“No. It’s coming on to the hurricane season down in those waters. In case of bad weather no small craft could ride such seas.”
Jack had been knitting his brow. Suddenly his expression cleared.
“No small craft could ride them,” he echoed; “but,” and he threw deep emphasis into his voice, “I know of a small craft that could weather any sort of hurricane.”
“I confess I don’t understand you, my boy,” rejoined his father, knitting his brows.
“The sort of vessel I’m thinking of wouldn’t stay on top at all,” replied Jack; “it would sink to a safe depth out of the hurly-burly, so to speak, and stay there till the storm blew over.”
“You mean the White Shark?” asked his father. “Jove! that is an idea.”
“I wasn’t sure that you’d think it a practicable one,” rejoined Jack, “but I don’t see why it shouldn’t be entirely feasible.”
“This looks like the trip we were talking about last night, the one Mr. Dancer said he’d like to take.”
“I wonder if he would charter the White Shark for such a voyage,” said Mr. Chadwick thoughtfully.
“I’m sure he would,” rushed on Jack eagerly. “I know he hasn’t got much money. The building of the White Shark has made him a poor man.”