“Ay, ay,” responded Lyndsay, rubbing his eyes, and going to the window.
“See what a storm the night has been brewing for you,” continued old Kitson. “It blows great guns, and there’s rain enough to float Noah’s ark. Waters is here, and wants to see you. He says that his small craft won’t live in a sea like this. You’ll have to put off your voyage till the steamer takes her next trip.”
“That’s bad,” said Lyndsay, hurrying on his clothes, and joining the old sailor on the lawn. “Is there any chance, Kitson, of this holding up?”
“None. This is paying us off for three weeks fine weather, and may last for several days—at all events, till night. The steamer will be rattling down in an hour, with the wind and tide in her favour. Were you once on board, Leaftenant, you might snap your fingers at this capful of wind.”
“We must make up our minds to lose our places,” said Lyndsay, in a tone of deep vexation.
“You have taken your places then?”
“Yes; and made a deposit of half the passage money.”
“Humph! Now, Leaftenant Lyndsay, that’s a thing I never do. I always take my chance. I would rather lose my place in a boat, or a coach, than lose my money. But young fellows like you never learn wisdom. Experience is all thrown away upon you. But as we can’t remedy the evil now, we had better step in and get a morsel of breakfast. This raw air makes one hungry. The wind may lull by that time.” Then gazing at the sky with one of his keen orbs, while he shaded with his hand the other, he continued—“It rains too hard for it to blow long at this rate; and the season of the year is all in your favour. Go in—go in, and get something to eat, and we will settle over your wife’s good coffee what is best to be done.”
Lyndsay thought with the Captain, that the storm would abate, and he returned to the anxious Flora, to report the aspect of things without.
“It is a bad omen,” said Flora, pouring out the coffee. “If we may judge of the future by the present—it looks dark enough.”