o think of another idee. You
remember the dory sail, mast and all, was alongside that cart. I clewed
up the canvas well as I could and managed to lash the mast up straight
over the auto's bows. Then I shook out the sail.

"'Here!' says I, turnin' to Billings. 'You hang on to that sheet. No,
you needn't nuther. Make it fast to that cleat alongside.'

"I couldn't see his face plain, but his voice had a funny tremble to it;
reminded me of my own when I climbed out of that very cart after he'd
jounced me down to Setuckit the day before.

"'What?' he says. 'Wh-what? What sheet? I don't see any sheet. What do
you want me to do?'

"'Tie this line to that cleat. That cleat there! CLEAT, you lubber!
CLEAT! That knob! MAKE IT FAST! Oh, my gosh t'mighty! Get out of my
way!'

"The critter had tied the sheet to the handle of the door instead of the
one I meant, and the pull of the sail hauled the door open and pretty
nigh ripped it off the hinges. I had to climb into the cockpit and
straighten out the mess. I was losin' my temper; I do hate bunglin'
seamanship aboard a craft of mine.

"'But what'll become of us?' begs Billings. 'Will we drown?'

"'What in tunket do we want to drown for? Ain't we got a good sailin'
breeze and the whole bay to stay on top of--fifty foot of water and
more?'

"'Fifty foot!' he yells. 'Is there fifty foot of water underneath us
now? Pard, you don't mean it!'

"'Course I mean it. Good thing, too!'

"'But fifty foot! It's enough to drown in ten times over!'

"'Can't drown but once, can you? And I'd just as soon drown in fifty
foot as four--ruther, 'cause 'twouldn't take so long.'

"He didn't answer out loud; but I heard him talkin' to himself pretty
constant.

"We was well out in the bay by now, and the seas was a little mite more
rugged--nothin' to hurt, you understand, but the floats was all foam,
and once in a while we'd ship a little spray. And every time that
happened Billings would jump and grab for somethin' solid--sometimes
'twas the upholstery and sometimes 'twas me. He wa'n't on the thwart,
but down in a heap on the cockpit floor.

"'Let go of my leg!' I sings out, after we'd hit a high wave and that
shover had made a more'n ordinary savage claw at my underpinnin'. 'You
make me nervous. Drat this everlastin' fog! somethin'll bump into us if
we don't look out. Here, you go for'ard and light them cruisin' lights.
They ain't colored 'cordin' to regulations, but they'll have to do.