The east wind was freshening; the sky was darker. Spencer, who stood awaiting them on the wharf, shook his head at Dick. “You aren't going to start now, are you, Cap'n?”
“Sure we are.”
“It's mean business with an east wind. But still McGlory knows the channel.”
“McGlory be——!” said Dick, throwing off his ceremonial manner now that Estelle had escaped to the house. “I'd take her through hell for fifty cents. Just watch my smoke.” Spencer said nothing further. The mate was ordered up forward; the lines were cast off; Dick took the wheel. And out they went, with a reckless daring that made Spencer and Pink Harper smile from different motives.
“He's going to butt a hole clean through Middle Island,” muttered the lumberman. But before the words were out, the Merry Anne swung cheerily about and went skimming along the channel bank. Soon she rounded the island in safety and disappeared.
Not until they were fairly out on Lake Huron did Dick call his mate. Then he gave up the wheel without a word and stumbled down into the cabin. His high spirits had given place to weariness and depression; and, dropping down for a moment on his bunk, he fell asleep.
On deck McGlory, with an expression of smouldering anger, stood at the wheel, glancing now at the sails, now at the water, now at the receding shore. If his eyes could have penetrated the bluffs and the forest, he would not have been happier. For Estelle, who seemed to be the victim of her emotions today, was listening to some earnest talk from a boastful fellow named Roche.