Ralph paid the boatman a quarter and then walked up the gangway to the quarter-deck to report.
The officer of the deck happened to be First Classman Creelton. The regular officer of the deck was below at dinner.
“I’ve come to report to the captain, sir,” announced Ralph in a strictly official tone.
“Why, why, what are you doing here?” stammered the utterly bewildered Creelton, while Bollup and Himski, hardly able to control themselves, stood on the side, impatiently waiting for Ralph to finish his reporting.
“That’s none of your business, sir,” said Ralph savagely; “you will please send in word to the captain that First Classman Osborn, first classman, please, is here to report in obedience to orders from the superintendent.”
“The captain is at dinner with some guests, sir,” faltered Creelton, “and gave orders that no reports should be sent to him till after eight o’clock.”
“Very well; I’ll report to him then. And by the way, Mr. Creelton, should you happen to be in correspondence with the friend who took you on a yachting trip last September, you might report to him that I came aboard in your watch. And advise him that if he ever dares to touch me again I have friends that will crush him, him and his crew.”
“Hoorah!” screamed Bollup, unable to stand any more of this. “Bully for you, Os,” and Ralph found himself seized in the arms of Himski and Bollup, and the latter two, shouting and yelling like Indians, rushed him forward. Cheer after cheer from forward greeted the ears of the aghast Creelton, who, not knowing what had happened, and fearful of what might have been discovered, was in a paroxysm of fright.
Ralph had never before appreciated how popular he was. He was actually battered with the enthusiastic hugging he received and his arm was nearly wrenched off. And one of the most delighted of all was Plebe Chappell.
Everybody was wild with joy at seeing the unexpected Osborn with them again, and hundreds of questions were shouted at him.