Phil had come to the rescue of his companion. He now jerked the window shut and slammed the blind in place, after which he quickly got into his clothes, fully expecting that he should have a call from the bass drummer.
There was a great uproar on deck about that time, with much shouting and unintelligible language—at least unintelligible to Phil.
Before he had finished dressing, Teddy came skulking in, rubbing himself and muttering threats as to what he proposed to do to the drummer.
"You did it! You did!" he shouted, pointing a finger at
Phil Forrest.
"It strikes me that you did something, too—"
"No I didn't. Something was done to me. I had on my pajamas, too," wailed the boy. "I'm glad you soaked him, though. Why didn't you throw the pitcher at him, too?"
"Oh, no, it might have hurt him, Teddy."
"Hurt him? Pshaw! Maybe the drumstick didn't hurt me. Oh, no!"
"Well, get dressed. I will go out and see if I can pour oil on the troubled waters. You stay here. I don't want you mixing it up with the drummer. I'll attend to him."
Phil first hunted up Mr. Sparling, whom he found shaving in his cabin.