ast. "About eighteen feet,
Steve, I should say," he called.

"Sixteen," corrected the Captain gravely. Joe smiled.

"Mean it?" he asked.

Steve nodded and put a finger on the chart. "We're right here," he said.
Then he covered the compass and drew down the lid of the chart box and
stretched his arms luxuriously. "That's over with," he added, "and I'm
glad of it! How about dinner, Ossie?"

"On the fire, Cap! Ready in five minutes."

"Then I'm going to get into a dry shirt. I'm soaked through. Some of you
chaps pull the side curtains down on the port side. We might as well
keep as dry as we can."

"Looks to me as if the fog was rolling in from the starboard, though,"
said Han.

"Yes, it's coming from the southeast, but we'll swing around in a few
minutes because the tide's coming in. Wonder where the _Follow Me_ is."

"Harry would probably make for harbour, too, wouldn't he?" asked Joe,
following the other down to the cabin. "I wouldn't be surprised if we
found them here when the fog clears."

A yacht, hidden somewhere in the fog ahead, sounded eight bells and was
instantly echoed from further away. "Great Scott!" exclaimed Steve. "Is
it twelve already?"

Joe nodded, glancing at the ship's clock at the end of the cabin. "Two
minutes after if our clock's right. Say, Steve, the next time we go out
in a fog we'll--um--we won't go, eh?"

"Not while I'm running this hooker," agreed Steve with intense
conviction. "Now that it's over, Joe, I don't mind telling you that I
was a bit worried. I wanted like anything to drop anchor back there by
the jetty."

"Why didn't you then?"

"I don't quite know," replied the other thoughtfully, "but I think it
was chiefly because I didn't like to be beaten."

"Dinner!" called Ossie from the forward cabin. "All hands to dinner! Get
a move on!"

CHAPTER VIII

PERRY LOSES HIS WAY

They stayed aboard all that day, for the fog held tight, and, if Steve's
calculations were right, the _Adventurer_ lay well down toward the
entrance to the harbour and the nearest settlement was a good mile and
three-quarters away. None of the seven felt sufficiently ambitious to
put out for shore in that smother of mist. They managed to pass the time
without much trouble, however. There was always the graphophone,
although they were destined to become rather tired of the records, and
Steve, Joe, Han and Neil played whist most of the afternoon. Phil curled
up on a couch and read, and Ossi