"Trouble?" Perry looked blank. "What sort of trouble?"
"Why, the fog, you know. We had an awful time finding the harbour."
"Oh, that!" Perry shrugged. "Why, we went straight for the jetty and
didn't have any trouble at all finding it. But then we've got a
navigator on our boat. So long!"
Perry discovered that rowing was raising a blister on each palm and that
his arms were getting decidedly tired. The trouble with a dingey, he
decided, was that while it might do excellently as a bathtub, it was
certainly never meant for rowing. The oars were so short that the best
strokes he was capable of sent the boat ahead scarcely more than three
or four feet, and, being almost as broad as it was long, the tender
constantly showed a tendency to go any way but straight ahead. While he
had been aboard the _Follow Me_ the fog had again taken on its amber hue
and now was unmistakably thinning out. But it was still thick enough to
hide objects thirty feet away and Perry couldn't for the life of him be
certain that he was sending his craft toward the beach. To be sure he
had started out in the general direction of the shore, as indicated by
Cas, but there was always the possibility that he was rowing stronger
with one oar than the other.
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