“See' em turning 'round—they can't manage her!”
Badeau shook his head. The life-boat, while they watched, was caught up on the foaming crest of a wave, whirled around and jammed against the end of the pier. She fell back with the wave, then, freed in some way from her short masts, she rolled completely over on her high round air-tanks, and righting, pitched about, buoyant as ever.
“See that? Did you see, Hunch? She went over!”
“Shut up, will you?”
“Look there—they're throwing ropes. My nephew—I've got a nephew on that crew, Hunch.”
“He'd better look out for his uncle, then.”
“See 'em bobbing around. Must be they've got cork jackets on.”
By some unseen agency the boat was got back between the piers, and the bobbing figures disappeared. The excitement passed; the beach, strewn with wreckage and driftwood, and backed by sand hills and stunted pines, looked bleaker than ever: the wind penetrated to their bones.
“What do you think o' that, Hunch? What do you think 'll become——”
“Oh, shut up!”