h and
it's going to be bad. Skipper says the only thing we can do is to fasten
down all the hatches and hold her nose to the storm."

"Better see about the hatches," shouted Curlie.

Throwing open the door, letting in a dash of salt spray and a cold rush
of wind as he did so, Joe disappeared into the dark.

Curlie and the girl were alone. The seat the girl occupied was clamped
solidly to the wall. It had broad, strong arms and to these she clung.
She was staring at the floor and seemed half asleep.

When Joe disappeared, Curlie once more became conscious of her presence
and at once he was disturbed. Who would not have been disturbed at the
thought of a delicate girl, accustomed to every luxury, being thrown
into such desperate circumstances as they were in at the present moment.

"Not my fault," he grumbled to himself. "I didn't want her to go.
Wouldn't have allowed her, either, had I known about it."

"Not your fault?" his inner self chided him. "Suppose you didn't plan
this trip?"

"Well, anyway," he grumbled, "she needn't have come along, and,
besides, circumstances have justified my theories. They are out here
somewhere, those two boys, and since they are it's up to someone to try
to save them."

Then suddenly he remembered that he had something to say to the girl. He
opened his mouth to shout to her, but closed it again.

"Better wait till Joe comes," he told himself. "The more people there
are to hear it, the more chances there are of its getting back to
shore."

Joe blew back into the cabin a few moments later.

"Everything all right?" Curlie shouted.

At the sound of his voice, the girl started, looked up, then smiled; Joe
nodded his head.

"Say, Joe, I'm hungry," shouted Curlie. "There's bread in the forward
cabin and some milk in a thermos bottle. Couldn't manage coffee, but
toast and milk'd be fine."

The girl sprang to her feet as if to go for the required articles, but
Joe pushed her back into her chair.

"Not for you," he shouted. "It's gettin' dangerous."

"Joe," said Curlie, "there's a small electric toaster there in the
cabin. Disconnect it and bring it in here. We'll connect it up and make
the toast right here."

When the toaster had been connected, the girl, happy in the knowledge
that she was able to be of service, toasted the bread to a brown quite
as delicate as that to be found on a landlubber's table.

"Now," said Curlie as they sat enjoying this meager repast, "I've got
s