“Look here, you fellows,” said a voice which Sydney recognised; “the first luff said there was to be no more of these games. Who did it?”
“Baby Jenks,” said a voice, and there was a laugh.
“I didn’t,” squeaked the little middy; “it was one of Roy’s games.”
“Say it was me again, and I’ll come and half smother you.”
“Well, they said it was me,” protested Jenkins. “I was asleep.”
“Who was it?” cried Roylance again.
“Captain Belton, to make his boy sharp,” said a voice out of the darkness—a voice evidently disguised by being uttered through a pair of half-closed hands.
There was a hearty laugh here, during which, feeling very miserable and dejected, Syd was groping about, trying to find out how the hammock was fastened, and in the darkness growing only more confused.
“Where are you?” said Roylance.
“Here. It’s come untied, I think.”