"Hush, boys," commanded Jack. "Let's see who it is."
Automatics were produced from under pillows and the boys moved forward to investigate. The cries still came loudly.
"Who are you and what do you want?" questioned Jack.
"Oh, help me, help me," groaned the figure lying at the foot of the companion-way. "Help me, I'm hurt badly."
"Where are you hurt?" inquired Jack solicitously bending over the prostrate form curled in a heap. "I'll help you if I can."
"My foot, oh, my foot," wailed the stranger. "It's cut off."
"Look at the blood," declared Frank. "Good gracious, that's a bad wound. Wonder how he got it. How did he get aboard?"
"There's something sticking into his foot," cried Harry. "Look at that thing projecting from his foot. No wonder it bleeds."
Frank and Jack exchanged glances and then at the whispered command of Frank, Jack quickly sat on the head of their visitor while Tom and Harry threw themselves upon his leg. Frank stooped, grasped the foot with one hand and with the other wrenched quickly at the thing that was protruding through the foot of the boy.
A shriek of agony told of the pain he had caused. Frank shook his head in pity at the suffering he had brought about. He glanced at the object he held in his hand, then sat down upon a locker and gave vent to shout after shout of laughter. The boys gazed in open mouthed wonder at the spectacle. Frank's laugh was hearty.