“What are you doing?” demanded Bartlett.

“Slowin’ down, of course.  Can’t run more’n ha’f speed in a fog like this.  ’Tain’t safe.”

“Safe!  What do I care?  I want to get to Trumet.”

“Yes?  Well, maybe we’ll git there if we have luck.”

“You idiot!  We’ve got to get there.  How can you tell which way to steer?  Get your compass, man! get your compass!”

“Ain’t got no compass,” was the sulky answer.  “Left it to home.”

“Why, no, you didn’t.  I—­”

“I tell you I did.  ’Twas careless of me, I know, but—­”

“But I say you didn’t.  When you went uptown after that quahaug rake I explored this craft of yours some.  The compass is in that little closet at the end of the cabin.  I’ll get it.”

He rose to his feet.  Issy sprang forward and seized him by the arm.

“Set down!” he yelled.  “Who’s runnin’ this boat, you or me?”

The astounded passenger stared at his companion.

“Why, you are,” he replied.  “But that’s no reason—­What’s the matter with you, anyway?  Have your dime novels driven you loony?”

Issy hesitated.  For a moment chagrin and rage at this sudden upset of his schemes had gotten the better of his prudence.  But Bartlett was taller than he and broad in proportion.  And valor—­except of the imaginative brand—­was not Issy’s strong point.

“There, there, Sam!” he explained, smiling crookedly.  “You mustn’t mind me.  I’m sort of nervous, I guess.  And you mustn’t hop up and down in a boat that way.  You set still and I’ll fetch the compass.”

He stumbled across the cockpit and disappeared in the dusk of the cabin.  Finding that compass took a long time.  Sam lost patience.

“What’s the matter?” he demanded.  “Can’t you find it?  Shall I come?”

“No, no!” screamed Issy vehemently.  “Stay where you be.  Catch a-holt of that wheel.  We’ll be spinnin’ circles if you don’t.  I’m a-comin’.”

But it was another five minutes before he emerged from the cabin, carrying the compass box very carefully with both hands.  He placed it in the binnacle and closed the glass lid.

“’Twas catched in a bluefish line,” he explained.  “All snarled up, ’twas.”

Sam peered through the glass at the compass.

“Thunder!” he exclaimed.  “I should say we had spun around.  Instead of north being off here where I thought it was, it’s ’way out to the right.  Queer how fog’ll mix a fellow up.  Trumet’s about northeast, isn’t it?”

“No’theast by no’th’s the course.  Keep her just there.”

The Lady May, still at half speed, kept on through the mist.  Time passed.  The twilight, made darker still by the fog, deepened.  They lit the lantern in order to see the compass card.  Issy had the wheel now.  Sam was forward, keeping a lookout and fretting at the delay.

“It’s seven o’clock already,” he cried.  “For Heaven’s sake, how late will you be?  I’ve got to be there by quarter of eight.  D’you hear?  I’ve got to.”