"I think I'd make it a thousand," groaned the senator's son. "Why, Dave, don't you feel it at all?"
"Well, I feel a little strange," answered the country boy, but he did not add that it was because he had to stand by and assist his friends. He made them as comfortable as possible, and then rushed to the deck, to get some fresh air and to get the matter off his mind.
A storm was certainly brewing, and Dave won dered how soon it would strike the Stormy Petrel and how long it would last. The black clouds were piling up in the sky and the wind came in unsteady puffs. Below, the clear, blue water had turned to a dark green.
The first mate was in charge of the deck and, so far, he had given no orders to shorten sail. Ever and anon a sail would crack in the wind and the bark would give a plunge in the sea. Dave walked forward to where Billy Dill stood by the rail, watching the sky anxiously.
"This looks stormy, doesn't it?" questioned the youth.
"Stormy? Great dogfish! I should allow as how it did, lad. We're in for a blow, an' a big one, too."
"Then isn't it about time to take in sail?"
"I should say it was."
"Then why doesn't the mate do so?"
