“Unfortunately is right,—if you refer to the fit!” cut in the fat lieutenant sourly as he got to his feet. “That tunic you’ve got on was built for a man of ample girth. Like me, for instance! And as for the pants—Whee-ew! Don’t let the wind catch ’em unfurled, when you go topside, Commander! That’s all I say!”
“And it’ll be enough, too, Lieutenant. At least until I get my own clothes back!” retorted Don, moving over to the open porthole. “Anyhow, this suit covers me better than—Whoa, there! Careful, sailor! Those knees of yours are going to buckle right under you!”
Catching Red’s arm, Don Winslow steadied him just in time.
“Where were you going to walk to, shipmate?” he asked.
Pennington’s reply was shaky, despite his plucky grin.
“Across to that chair and then collapse!” he answered. “Boy, oh, boy—this room’s going around! I’m weak as a baby. Hope it’ll pass off before Doc orders me back to bed.”
“Hope so, Red!” replied Don, easing his friend into the chair. “We’ll just sit here and talk for a few minutes. You know, I wish Headquarters hadn’t ordered us to destroy the Scorpion’s base, here. I hate to blow up all the machinery there that’s too heavy to move. If only I had another month to study those new inventions!”
“Okay, Commander!” chuckled Red Pennington. “Why don’t you dig up the whole underground base and take it along as a souvenir? That’d be just as reasonable as—Say, listen, Skipper! You ought to be more than satisfied with what you’ve done already. Wasn’t it you that found the Scorpion’s base, to begin with? And who else but Don Winslow discovered how our ships were destroyed, here in the Windward Passage? It was you, more than anybody else, who pulled the last trick of sinking the Scorpion’s submarine. What more do you want, to be happy?”
Don Winslow turned to gaze out of the porthole at the sunlit waves of the cove. Beyond stretched the white sand beach, now swarming with sailors in dungarees.
The Gatoon’s launch and two whaleboats were pulled up at the edge of the water. Don guessed that they were getting ready to blow up the great steel cylinder buried at the jungle’s edge. In a few hours, at most, the gunboat would be weighing anchor, bound for the safety of civilized ports.