“Thanks!” murmured the stout one, smiling between bites.
After the dinner mess there was nothing to do until the middle of the afternoon, when word went around that there was to be boat drill. That is, each man was to be told where his station was, and what boat he was to try to get into in case of danger. This program held for two days of ocean travel, until some began to complain of too many boat drills.
But, in spite of the fact that the war was over, there was a chance that a floating mine might be struck.
Following the short boat drill, Ned, Bob, and Jerry came back to a comfortable place they had preempted on the after deck, and they were sitting there talking when Bob nudged Jerry, who was nearest him, and whispered:
“There he is again!”
“Who?” asked the tall lad.
“The pepper-pot,” was the answer. “Le cochon!”
As he spoke he nodded toward a secluded and shadowed corner. There, staring at the three boys, they could make out the little bald-headed man of the restaurant. He was peering at them through his spectacles over the top of what to the boys seemed to be a pamphlet and which he was holding just below the level of his eyes.
“Well, he’ll know us again, anyhow,” mused Jerry. And then, as if conscious that he was under observation and had been detected in spy work, the peculiar individual hastily turned and went below.
“I’d like to know what his game is!” exclaimed Ned.