now?” exclaimed Hogan in exasperated wonder.
A silence fell over the boisterous group.
“Out o' coal,” hazarded Galton, “that's w'y she harsn't got back no sooner.”
“W'ere's 'er sails, then?”
“A tug couldn't do nothin' with sails—she isn't made for sails!”
“It ain't w'ot ye're made for, hit's w'ot ye can git in this blarsted sea!”
“Maybe 'er machin'ry's broke?”
“Maybe they're hall sick?”
“Or dead?”
“Maybe——”
Madden hurried to his cabin and returned with binoculars. The men foregathered curiously about him as he scanned the vessel. He ran his eyes over the tub from stem to poop. She stood out with absolute distinctness in the glaring light. He could see her high prow, the swinging buffers along her side, the wide-mouthed ventilators. He could even make out her name in rusty letters under the wheel-house. Her small boats were in place, but he saw neither life nor movement aboard. She appeared as deserted as a pile of scrap iron.
