"
"If you do you'll be put in irons," said Joe. "Or swung from the
yard-arm. Say, how long before we're going to have something to eat,
Ossie? I'm hungry. That egg thing sort of whetted my appetite."
"Gosh, you fellows would keep me cooking all the time," grumbled the
steward. "It's only five, and we don't have supper until six. So you can
plaguey well starve for an hour."
"Then I shall go to sleep and--um--forget the pangs of hunger. Move your
big feet out of the way, Phil."
"I like your cheek, you duffer! Go on back to your own bunk."
"Too faint for want of food," murmured Joe, stretching himself out in
spite of Phil's protests. "Someone sing to me, please."
Supper went very well, in spite of the mid-afternoon luncheon, and after
that the riding light was set for the night, the hatches drawn shut and
all hands settled down to pass the evening in whatever way seemed best.
But bedtime came early tonight and, by half-past nine, with the sound of
a distant siren coming to them at intervals and the yacht's bells
chiming the hours and half-hours, all lights were out below and the
_Adventurer_ was wrapped in fog and silence.
The fog still held in the morning, although at times it took on a
yellowish tinge and made them hopeful that it would burn off.
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