“Halloa!” came a hoarse voice.
“Are you full up?” shouted the master of the Seamew.
“No,” came the roar again.
“Drop your anchor and come alongside,” shouted the skipper, “I’ve got to stay here another week, and I’ve got a dozen barrels o’ herring must be in London before then.”
The Frolic was abreast of them, and he held his breath with suspense.
“It won’t take you half an hour,” he shouted anxiously.
The grating of the cable was music in his ears as it ran out, and hardly able to believe in the success of his scheme he saw the crew taking in the sail they had just begun to set. Ten minutes later the Frolic was rubbing against his side.
The hatches were off the Seamew, and a lantern swinging in her hold shed a sickly light upon the sleepy faces of her crew. The mate was at the foc’sle whispering instructions to Annis.
“Look alive,” said the master of the Frolic, “I’ll just take ’em on deck for the present.”
He came fussily to the side to superintend, gazing curiously at Annis, who was standing watching the operations.