Читать книгу Edith Percival. A Novel онлайн

14 страница из 61

"Well, confess you're a better judge of the weather than I am, if you can see any sign of a breeze," said Gus. "By the look of things at present I should conclude we might lie sweltering here for a month of Sundays."

"I've been on the ocean man and boy, for thirty odd years, sir, and ought to know something of weather signs. If it doesn't blow great guns before the sun sets to-night, then you may call old Jack a good-for-nothing lubber—that's all."

"I vow I hope it may! This dog-trot rate of going is enough to provoke a Quaker to kick his grandmother. A stiff breeze will give us new life, and set things all right again," said Gus.

"Maybe so," said the old salt, rather doubtingly; "but, if I'm not mistaken, you'll wish yourself safe on land before you see the sun rise again."

"Faith! I wish I were there now," said Gus, with a yawn. "I never was born for a sailor; and never were the children of Israel more tired of their quarters in the desert than I am of this rascally old ark. Look out for your storm, Jack; and if you see it coming, just let me know."