“That old seahorse? He likes this kind of weather.”
“Tell him we’ve got to tie up. I can’t stand this rocking much longer.”
“I’ll see what he has to say,” Bud mumbled, and went out of the cabin.
Above the roar of the storm, Nancy caught the sound of angry voices and knew that the two men were arguing. Evidently, Tom Tozzle was unwilling to halt.
This Bud confirmed when he returned to the cabin a few minutes later.
“Well, what did he say?” Mary demanded impatiently.
“Nothing doing. He says we’re going to get a hundred miles down the river before we stop.”
“I wish he’d get sick—the stubborn fool!” Mary flared indignantly. “Who does he think is running this affair, anyway?”
“Well, he’s running the boat, at least. I wouldn’t want the job of trying it.”
As Bud finished speaking, the motorboat gave a sudden swerve which sent him reeling against the table.
“We nearly struck something that time!” he cried excitedly.
Rushing to the window, he looked out into the storm and was just in time to see a large yacht steam by.
“We might have been run down!” he exclaimed. “This settles it! I’ll make Tom tie up for the night!”
He strode from the cabin, to return presently with the news that the riverman had agreed to turn toward shore.