“I’m looking for Bob Steele.”
“You mean you’re looking at him and not for him. I’m Bob Steele.”
“Well, I’m Ensign Glennie. What the dickens are you doing at Port of Spain?”
“What the dickens are you doing here? We were to pick you up at Georgetown.”
“What I’m doing here is my business,” said Glennie, stiffening. “I wasn’t expecting you for two or three days yet, and expected to be in Georgetown by the time you got there.”
Bob stared at the haughty young man in the trim uniform. Dick Ferral, who was in the boat with him, gave a long whistle.
“Then,” said Bob coolly, “I guess our reason for being here is our own business. We were expecting to find a midshipman, Glennie, and not——”
“Mr. Glennie,” struck in the ensign. “I’m a passed midshipman and a commissioned officer.”
Dick got to his feet, pulled off his cap, and bowed.