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Jim grabbed the oar and jammed it into the scull-hole, but before he could wet the blade a crumbling roller almost swamped the boat. Out went everything that would float. "Save that bucket, Perce!" shouted Spurring. Percy clutched the handle just as the pail was going over the side. He bailed, while Spurling brought the flooded craft stern to the seas. "Take her now, Perce! Give me the bucket!"
Never before had he known Jim to acknowledge himself beaten. Their plight must be serious indeed. The dory swung side to the sea and sank into the trough. A half-barrel of water slopped aboard. Percy bestirred himself. Setting the oar in the scull-hole, he brought the boat's head once more into the wind.
By this time, after sitting still for a while, both of them were chilled by the wet and the night air, and they needed exercise of some kind to warm them. Ben had a large and sharp knife in his pocket, and he began to whittle the board like a typical Yankee. Deck put his staff into the scull-hole, and made an effort to steer the tender, and thus prevent her from whirling.
"I'm afraid she's coming too near for comfort," said Jim, anxiously. "She might run us down and never know it. Lots of fishermen have gone that way. Ship that oar in the scull-hole. I'm going to haul in the drug." He lifted the trawl-tub aboard and sprang quickly aft. "We'll know pretty quick whether she's likely to pass ahead or astern. We can't count on being seen.
When it had gone to a safe distance, Deck seated himself in the stern-sheets, and put his board in the scull-hole, and forced the boat to the shore, though not without a great deal of difficulty and labor. Fronklyn was on the lookout for it, and sprang lightly into the fore-sheets, making a spring on his board stick. The current took the boat, and no further exertion was necessary.
The dory's drift, if unchanged, would take her several yards west of the steel can crowned with its red whistle-cage. Its warning blast set the air vibrating, Oo-oo-oo-ooh! Jim snatched out his knife and sprang forward. "Oar in the scull-hole, Perce! Lively!" Driving the point of his blade into the side of the bow, he dragged the painter in until he reached the gasolene-can.
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