There was something in Tom’s voice that made Jim appear in a hurry.
“Get the brandy,” he said. Tom lost no time in getting the bottle out of a locker in the main cabin. When he returned he found Juarez and Jeems standing near looking very sober, while the old captain and Jim worked over him.
The Frontier Boys had gone through many dangers unscathed, and it seemed terrible that Jo should be so badly hurt in a moment of play. In fifteen minutes’ time, however, Jo was partially himself, but he could not walk and had to be helped to his cabin, and that night he had a high fever, but next day he was quite himself, due mainly to a rugged constitution.
A few days later the weather began to change. The sea became rough and boisterous, with head winds and decidedly colder, but the boys did not complain, in fact they rather liked it, as they were strong and hardy and enjoyed battling with the elements.
“It’s the sweaters for us now,” said Jo, coming out on deck, to find the nasty gray sea swept by rain squalls, and the deck sodden and the sky sullen.
“I like it,” declared Juarez, “the tropics are all right for a few weeks, but I couldn’t stand it for long.”
“That’s because you lads are stormy petrels,” remarked Jeems.
“If by that poetic symbol you mean that we are always in trouble,” replied Jim, “you certainly have struck it.”
Then the boys went below to get their respective sweaters, the colors being chosen according to their individual taste. Tom’s was black, which is no insinuation against his character; Jim’s was blue; Juarez the same color and Jo’s red. As for hats, they still wore their weather-beaten sombreros. They were just the hats for this kind of weather.