There was little talk. Now and then one or two of the party uneasily shifted position, but the others seemed to be content to sit quietly, gazing thoughtfully at the fire. The Shark especially was absorbed in reflections.
Step, his right hand neighbor and one of the more nervous of the brotherhood, wriggled his long legs, stretched his arms, turned, and peered at the impassive Shark.
“Oh, I say!” he broke out impatiently. “What’s the use of being a graven image? Come to life, Shark!”
Very deliberately the youth addressed gave his attention to Step.
“Huh! I’m very much alive,” he remarked calmly. “I’m doing something with such brains as I happen to have.”
“How? What?”
“I’m thinking.”
“How we’ll get out of this fix?”
The Shark frowned. “That would be wasted effort. There’s nothing we can do till the storm ends. Meanwhile, I entertain myself sensibly.”
“But how?” Step insisted curiously.