“Here,” he growled, “you two young fellows have got to go below.”
“Who said so?” cried Fitz. “The skipper?”
“No, the President.”
“But what for?” cried the middy.
“Oh, I dunno,” replied the mate grimly, and with the smile expanding as he recalled something of which he had been a witness. “I thinks he wants to kiss you both again.”
“Then I’ll be hanged if I go,” cried Fitz; “and that’s flat!”
“Haw haw!” came from the mate’s lips, evidently meant for a laugh, which made the middy turn upon him fiercely; but there was no vestige of even a smile now as he said gruffly, “Yes, you must both come at once. The Don’s waiting to speak, and he said that he wouldn’t begin till you were there to hear it too.”
“Come on, Burnett,” said Poole seriously, and then with his eyes twinkling he added, “You can have a good wash afterwards if he does.”
“Oh,” cried Fitz, with his face scarlet, “I do hate these people’s ways;” and then, in spite of his previous remark about suspension, he followed the skipper’s son down into the cabin, with Burgess close behind, to find the President facing the door ready to rise with a dignified smile and point to the locker for the boys to take their seats.
This done, he resumed his own, and proceeded to relate to the skipper as much as he could recall of what had been taking place, the main thing being that Villarayo’s large force had completely scattered on its way back through the mountains en route to San Cristobal, while Velova and the country round was entirely declaring for the victor, whose position was but for one thing quite safe.