The steam yacht was crowded with men and boys, most of whom had attended the ball game.
“You can’t lay this accident on me,” growled the man in charge of the steam yacht, a burly fellow with reddish hair and a bristly mustache. “I blew my whistle and I had the right of way.”
“No such thing!” retorted Pud Hicks. “You ran into us on purpose. I’m goin’ to report you.”
“It certainly was too bad it happened,” said a young man on the steam yacht, as he eyed the cadets critically. “You fellows didn’t get hurt, did you?”
“I came pretty close to getting drowned,” growled Randy.
“Yes, and the silver trophy we just won was knocked overboard,” added his brother. “I guess the owner of the yacht will have to settle that bill.”
“We won’t settle anything! It was all your fault, and you know it!” said the man who was running the steam yacht. “If any one is to make a complaint, it ought to be me!”
After this there was a wordy war lasting for five minutes or more. Each side seemed to be convinced that the fault lay with the other crowd. Finally a number of men aboard the steam yacht began to grumble.
“Stop chewing the rag and take us up to the hotel,” said one man. “I’ve got to catch that evening train.”