He was making his wrists sore, and he gave up the struggle.
Pretty soon Flynn came and stood near him.
“Here, Steve,” he called, “we’ll take him below.”
The sailor approached, and Frank was carried down into the cabin, which was lighted.
On getting into the light, Flynn saw that Merriwell was conscious.
“So you’ve come around,” he sneered, with an evil look on his face. “I’m glad of that.”
He, too, was dressed roughly, like a sailor, and on his face was a stubbed beard, showing he had not been shaved for a week.
Frank was placed in a sitting position, and then Flynn stood up before him, showing his hatred by the look on his face.
“You don’t seem tickled to be on board the White Wings again,” he sneered. “Don’t suppose you expected to come aboard in this fashion.”
“Hardly,” admitted Frank, quietly. “But still it’s better than not coming aboard at all.”