“They’re afraid,” he grumbled low to his young companions. “Down deep in their hearts they are afraid.”
“What will they do now?” Rusty asked anxiously.
“They’re already doin’ it,” said MacGregor, calling attention to the rush and bustle on board. “Puttin’ the ship in shape. It wouldn’t surprise me if they weighed anchor within the hour. And if they do, me lassie,” he added, “you may be lookin’ on them Oriental cities within a week, for they’ll be headin’ straight for home.”
“Oh-o,” Rusty breathed. But she said never a word.
On that same morning in Smokey Joe’s cabin Lawrence was up before the wee small hours had passed. After one good look at the sea, which was still rolling high, he dashed back into the cabin to find Blackie staring at him wide awake.
“Black-Blackie,” he stammered. “I—I hate to disturb you. But—but that blue bear—”
“I know.” Blackie sat up. “Three peaks, a look and a right smart ho, hum.”
“Blackie! It’s terribly important. Just think! A little blue bear. The only one in captivity, if we get him.”
“I know.” Blackie slid out of his bunk. “Get the fire going. Put the coffee pot on. We’ll be off in a half hour.”
“Oh, think—”