“I have it!” she exclaimed. “It’s a rope ladder. How queer! There’s no one staying out here. There never was a ladder before. It goes up to the deck.”
“Let’s go up,” said Betty. “What a lark!”
“You are drenched. You’ll catch your death of cold.”
“B-best thing to d-do,” said Betty, beginning to chatter again, “to take off my clo-clothes and wring them out.”
“Right!” said Ruth, fumbling for the painter. “Guess it’s safe enough. Just tie the boat to the ladder.”
A moment of feeling about and struggling with ropes, then up they went, like blue-jackets, hand over hand. Another moment on deck and Betty was doing a wild whirling dance in the dark while her companion’s strong hands wrung out her clothes.
“Boo-oo, it’s cold!” shivered the city girl as she struggled to get back into her sodden and wrinkled garments.
“Come on,” said Ruth. “Now we’re here, we might as well explore. There’s a cabin forward—the Captain’s. We’ll be out of the wind if we get in there.”
They were more than out of wind in that cabin. They found a great round stove set up there. With the aid of two matches Ruth examined its flue, and with a third she lighted the fire that was laid in it. The next moment Betty and her clothes were drying before a roaring fire.
“Think of being in such a place at ten o’clock at night!” Betty said with a delighted shudder.