At the sound of reveille the next morning, the boys were all out of their bunks in short order; and, after a cup of cocoa with some crackers, they got the gear out of the way preparatory to scrubbing the decks, and the cabin skylights and portholes were closed.
“What the dickens is the use,” said Dick to Tom, “of having all these things done on the very minute? A fellow has hardly time enough to look around!”
“That’s all right,” answered Tom, “the things have all got to be done sometime, and the quicker they’re put through, the better. There’s no sense in wasting time over the chores.”
“Right you are, Tom,” said Perkins, who was standing near, “and on board a vessel you have to be even quicker than on land; for otherwise we should be knocking our heads together—there are so many of us in a small space. That’s why things have to go like clockwork.”
While the decks were being scrubbed with salt water, the officers in the cabin heard the swish of the water up against the portholes as they were dressing below. Suddenly an exclamation was heard from the cabin companionway, immediately followed by the scout master’s whistle and the cry, “Boatswain’s Mate!”
The boatswain’s mate ran down and found Mr. Miller wiping the back of his neck which had just been soused by a stream of salt water coming through an unclosed porthole.
“Who is responsible for closing the portholes, Perkins?”
“On the starboard side, Sir? I will find out at once. It must be some one in the second division, first section.” Jack returned on deck and found the boatswain’s mate of that section. “Gray,” was the answer, “Number 4,” and Jack went back to the cabin and reported to Mr. Miller.
“Put him on report,” said he, “and bring the matter up at ‘Mast.’”
“Ay, Ay, Sir,” said Jack, and the incident was closed for the time being.