"Harry, you ought to be serious once in a while!" admonished Jack.
"There are no rocks down in this part of the world. Everything is sand
and lots of it. Besides the real coast is over here to our starboard
hand side. You can't hear any surf there!"
"Maybe so, but I can hear what I believe to be the pounding of waves on
a shore, just the same!" stoutly insisted Harry.
"Listen a minute," exclaimed Tom raising a hand for silence.
"There!" cried Harry after an interval. "There it is again!"
"Jack," Tom asked turning to his chum, "can you get it?"
With his face a trifle paler than was his wont, Jack nodded his head and
with his lips closed tightly peered into the fog.
"Great Wigglin' Pollywogs!" ejaculated Tom. "If we're into a surf the
Fortuna had better give up now! We can't ever expect to get out of that
sort of a mess with this little rabbit!"
"Two times heavy on the dish washing for Thomas!" gloated Harry. "But
we're not into the surf yet a while! Listen!"
His hand was held up again for silence. From the cabin came the sound of
the clock striking the hour in nautical fashion.
"Five bells!" announced Jack.
"Let's see," mused Harry. "I never can get used to that."
"Ten thirty," Tom put in, "if it was a railroader; half past o'clock for
you Dutchmen," he added with a chuckle, wrinkling a freckled nose at
Harry and winking at Jack.
"All right!" assented Harry. "Log a surf heard at--how many bells? Oh,
yes, five bells in the morning.
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