Joe smiled.
"Mean it?" he asked.
Steve nodded and put a finger on the chart. "We're right here," he said.
Then he covered the compass and drew down the lid of the chart box and
stretched his arms luxuriously. "That's over with," he added, "and I'm
glad of it! How about dinner, Ossie?"
"On the fire, Cap! Ready in five minutes."
"Then I'm going to get into a dry shirt. I'm soaked through. Some of you
chaps pull the side curtains down on the port side. We might as well
keep as dry as we can."
"Looks to me as if the fog was rolling in from the starboard, though,"
said Han.
"Yes, it's coming from the southeast, but we'll swing around in a few
minutes because the tide's coming in. Wonder where the _Follow Me_ is."
"Harry would probably make for harbour, too, wouldn't he?" asked Joe,
following the other down to the cabin. "I wouldn't be surprised if we
found them here when the fog clears."
A yacht, hidden somewhere in the fog ahead, sounded eight bells and was
instantly echoed from further away. "Great Scott!" exclaimed Steve. "Is
it twelve already?"
Joe nodded, glancing at the ship's clock at the end of the cabin. "Two
minutes after if our clock's right. Say, Steve, the next time we go out
in a fog we'll--um--we won't go, eh?"
"Not while I'm running this hooker," agreed Steve with intense
conviction.
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