Instantly, they were wrapped in warm blankets. They were both glad that it was June, and not November, as they realized how cold they were, even though swathed in wool and bathed in sunlight. Somebody forced Sandy to swallow a little glass of burning liquid, and he guessed that it was rum from the heat of it in his stomach and the way his eyes began to water.
“Ugh,” Sandy said, “I’d sooner drink a gallon of lake water.”
“You nearly did,” a harsh voice said; and, opening his eyes, Sandy saw Captain West forcing his way through the knot of sailors who had surrounded him. For once the skipper had shaved, though his eyes were bloodshot.
“That was a foolhardy stunt, boy,” Captain West went on, growling and not noticing the rush of color into Sandy Steele’s face. “You could have drowned.”
“But what about Cookie, then? Did you want me to let him drown—sir?”
“Mind your tongue, boy. We’ve got lifeboats for that sort of thing. We’d have had him out of there in no time.”
“But what about the lake cold?” Jerry James put in hotly. “It might have killed him before you could get to him.”
Captain West sneered. “I can see you’ve been listening to Cookie’s sea stories. The Lakes aren’t that cold in June.”
“Oh, n-no?” Jerry James asked wryly, pulling his blankets closer about him. “Th-then why are m-my t-t-teeth ch-chattering?”
A ripple of laughter ran through the onlooking men and Captain West swung on Jerry with his eyes sparking fiercely, furious at getting an argument from any of his crew.