" There was a
chuckle of relief in his voice.
Dan turned to watch the girl as she followed her father from the
bridge. He was certain he had never seen anything so inspiring as
Virginia Howland standing braced square to the wind, her trim blue
skirt winding and unwinding; her cap in her hand; the wind tossing her
heavy hair in myriads of glowing pennons, which beat on the
blush-surged cheeks, alternately hiding and disclosing the sparkle of
the deep gray eyes or the flash of perfect teeth from between parted
lips.
It was a picture upon which he permitted himself to ponder but an
instant, however, for the wind was shifting again from the northeast,
growling ominously, and the yacht, humping along at a ridiculous speed
of six knots, made the situation less satisfactory than it had been.
He spoke to Terry over his shoulder.
"As you see," he said, "we're running into some new sort of hell," and
he glanced impatiently at the potential riot ahead. "Have these men
keep the course and look out for things, will you? I'm going down to
the engine-room for a few minutes."
"Very well, sir," said the young officer.
Dan found old Jim Arthur, the chief, swearing softly as he moved about
his engines with a long-spouted oil can.
"It is beginning to breeze again," said Dan.
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