. . twelve
hours!"
Dan looked at the yacht, rolling to her beam ends almost every minute.
It would be a bad business fooling with that craft; and with iron will
he fought back his surging emotions. He had his tug and his men to
consider, if not himself. His tug was weakened by her long struggle,
and to the best of his judgment he knew it would be wiser for his own
interests to go his way, leaving the yacht to her life fight, while the
_Fledgling_ fought hers. And yet he could not go away. Aside from the
wild theory that the girl might be aboard, there were lives to save
over there. That was it. There were lives to save over there. Duty
called--a stern, clear call; at least, Dan so heard it, and he was
willing to answer it with his life, if necessary. But he did not think
of that part of it. It was the lives of those imperilled persons that
concerned him. He and his tug were there that they might live. There
were women aboard; he had seen their white faces gazing imploringly at
him through the cabin portholes--bright, beautiful lives--and men in
the glorious prime of their youth. His heart went out to them, and as
Mr. Howland laid aside his megaphone the problem was clear. He waved
his megaphone in assent and then, levelling it at the yacht, he cried:
"All right.
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