The shore line was sinking
gradually into the sea. The land had become a faint, purplish blur in
the distance, a strong, salty breeze was blowing across the sloop and
the Atlantic rollers were becoming longer. The "Sue" was beginning to
roll heavily, rising and falling to the accompaniment of creaking
boom, rattling mast rings and flapping jibs. Keeping on one's feet was
becoming more and more difficult with the passing of the moments.
"Oh, help!" moaned Margery, in an anguished voice.
"What ith the matter!" demanded Tommy, squinting quizzically at her
companion, whose face was deathly pale.
"Oh, I'm so ill," moaned Buster. Then she toppled over into the
cockpit, where she lay moaning. Miss Elting and Hazel picked her up,
carried her into the cabin and placed her on one of the cushioned
locker seats. Margery promptly rolled off with the next lurch of the
sloop. "I wish I were dead!" she moaned.
"Cheer up! The wortht ith yet to come," cooed Tommy.
"Do you think this is perfectly safe?" questioned Miss Elting, after
having staggered outside. "The sea is very rough and we are a long way
from shore."
"Not at all, Miss," replied the captain. "This is a very fine sea.
Why, this boat could go through a hurricane and never leak a drop.
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