"If it gets much worse you had better come below and let the boat run itself, Dick."
"I can't do that, Tom—I must stick to my post."
Another half-hour went by, and there was no let up in the fury of the storm. Poor Sam was almost exhausted and, tying the wheel fast for the time being, Dick went to him.
"Better come in," he said. "If you'll take the wheel I'll stay out here. Just keep her straight before the storm."
"All right," panted poor Sam, and made his way back to the wheelhouse step by step, and holding on to whatever was handy, to keep from being swept overboard.
Sam had interested himself in steering from the start and knew how to handle a wheel moderately well. He looked at the compass and saw that they were running almost due east, varying a little to the southward. He untied the wheel and kept to the course with but little trouble.
"Dick has gone on the lookout," he explained to Tom. And then he added: "You've got the best job to-night."
"I'd come up, if you could run the engine," was Tom's reply.
"No, you had better attend to that, Tom."
"Doesn't the storm seem to be letting up?"
