We asked each other a lot of questions that neither one of us knew the answer to. It sort of helped pass the time. And we certainly did do a thorough job of paging, for we cruised in and out of every little cove, and around every point we came to; and I kept the horn goin' until I was as shy on breath as a fat lady comin' out of the subway.
It was while I was restin' a bit that I got to explorin' one of the boat lockers, and dug up this Roman-candle affair that Vee said I might touch off. And it hadn't burned half way down before I spots an answerin' glow 'way off to the left.
"We've raised someone, anyway," says I.
"We'll know who it is soon," says Vee, turnin' the wheel.
Five minutes later and we got a reply to our horn—four long blasts.
"That means distress," says Vee. "Answer with three short ones."
A mile or so further on, as we swings wide around the end of an island where a shoal sticks out, we comes in sight of this big motor-boat lyin' quiet a couple of hundred feet off-shore with three people in it.
"There they are, thank goodness!" says Vee, shuttin' off the engine and lettin' the boat drift in towards 'em slow.
"Hello, there!" I calls out.
"That you, Torchy?" asks Old Hickory, anxious.