“I was mad, crazy mad. I’d have laughed for joy if I could have seen you both sewn up in rolls of canvas and dumped overboard with a flag draped over the sacks. You’ll report me, I know. They are trying to find out who did it. Report me. I deserve all I’ll get.”
“You are mistaken, Bill, we are not going to report you,” answered Dan firmly.
“You ain’t going to report me?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then maybe red-head here would like to give me a wallop on the jaw to even things up.”
“No.”
“No? What then?”
“We are going to shake hands with you, Bill,” replied Dan. Each boy extended an impulsive hand. Bill took the hands, gazing keenly into the bronzed faces as he did so.
“I’ve heard all about it,” he muttered. “Yes, I’ve heard all about it. They told me to-day, and—and——”
Bill Kester, once the bully of the “Long Island” buried his face in the pillow. There was a convulsive upheaval of his shoulders, and the lads caught what sounded to them like a sob.