With the exception of one brief spell during which Cannonball thought it safe to allow them on deck (it was raining and the company owners were all below), they’d spent the entire time confined to their cramped quarters. Nor had their appearance on deck, during which they were compelled to hold a tarpaulin over their heads to keep the rain off, proved to be anything like a pleasant diversion. At least it hadn’t lasted long: there’d been time enough for Constance to compose a rhyming complaint about bullfrogs and tarp hogs (by which she meant the boys, whom she accused of crowding her); time enough for the boys to observe how much more miserable a cold wet night could be made by a poetic companion in a foul mood; and time enough for Kate to summon Madge from the bridge tower and smuggle her down to Cannonball’s cabin (a courtesy Cannonball insisted upon, since their own cabin was so crowded) — but all of this took less than five minutes. Afterward the children had retreated belowdecks, and since then had done nothing but wait.
