“Now!” he breathed, as a huge breaker bore them forward.
“Now!” Florence exclaimed, as a second, larger than the first, broke with a hiss under the Wanderer’s prow.
“And now!” shouted the gray-haired colonel, as the stout little craft glided off the last wave to the calm of Rock Harbor. “That—that was marvelous!” He gripped Florence and Dave by the hands. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. And now,” he added quietly, “now for Chips. He’ll be waiting.”
Chips was waiting, and it was the privilege of the young navigators to witness his marvelous efficiency. With the smoothness of clockwork, his men marched aboard the boat, thrust rope-lashed poles beneath each pump, then disappeared into the night.
“That’ll lick the fire,” Chips murmured. “Besides, the wind’s shifting, and there’s the smell of rain in the air.”
“There are good beds down at the lodge at the other end of the harbor,” the gray-haired colonel turned to the Wanderer’s crew. “You all need some real rest. It’s smooth going all the way. What do you say we go down and tie up there for twenty-four hours?”
“That,” exclaimed Florence, “would be keen!”
“And so say we all,” Dave echoed.
“O.K.,” he exclaimed, “John, you know this channel. Suppose you take the wheel.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Indian John saluted.