When she had righted herself, Lawless, clad in oilskins and a sou'-wester, swarmed up the little iron ladder to the wheelhouse, and, waiting a favourable opportunity, opened the door and staggered in.
"Phew!" he ejaculated. "This is weather and no mistake!"
"Weather!" echoed the skipper with a sour smile. "Wait till we get it really rough!"
The quartermaster at the wheel suppressed a smile, while the Lieutenant did his best to look apprehensive.
"I thought this was pretty rough," he said apologetically.
"Oh, it's a bit choppy, I'll allow. But rough——" The skipper smiled a smile, more eloquent than words, that expressed all the scorn which a seasoned salt feels for a greenhorn who has still to learn the ways of the sea.
"It'll be my watch in five minutes," said Lawless. "I expect you will be glad to go below."
The skipper grunted. No one but a raw amateur would have turned out for his watch before being called; it was the brand of inexperience.
"Keep her as near west by south as may be," said the skipper, jerking his head towards the binnacle. "Send for me if you sight anything."
While he was speaking, eight bells struck, and as the sound died away a seaman came up the iron ladder to relieve the quartermaster at the wheel. As the off-duty man stumbled out of the wheelhouse, the skipper also turned to leave.