“Jack!” he yelled in a tone of strong amazement, “Jack!”
“Halloa!” cried the mate.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” yelled the other reproachfully.
“Tell you what?” roared the mystified mate.
The master of the other craft, holding on to the stays with one hand, jerked his thumb expressively towards Miss Cringle, and waited.
“When was it?” he screamed anxiously, as he realised that his craft was rapidly carrying him out of earshot.
The mate smiled feebly, and glanced uneasily at the girl, who, with a fine colour and an air of vast unconcern, was looking straight in front of her; and it was a relief to both of them when they found themselves hesitating and dodging in front of a schooner which was coming up.
“Do you want all the river?” demanded the exasperated master of the latter vessel, running to the side as they passed. “Why don’t you drop anchor if you want to spoon?”
“Perhaps you’d better let me take the wheel a bit,” said the mate, not without a little malice in his voice.
“No; you can go an’ keep a look-out in the bows,” said the girl serenely. “It’ll prevent misunderstandings, too. Better take the potatoes with you and peel them for dinner.”