Presently a man’s form shot out of the cabin as if fired out of a gun, with the parrot astride of his shoulders! The red and green feathers of the bird shone and glistened under the electric light, the long tail trailed out behind like the tail of a comet, while the topknot was very much in evidence, standing up straight and rigid.
The man thus attacked gave utterance to a string of oaths and billingsgate which would have made a fishwife green with envy.
“The bloomin’ bird is clawin’ me eyes out!” he shouted, doing his best to dislodge the bird. “Take ’im off, someone!”
By this time two other men were on deck, struggling with Tommy, who did not seem at all inclined to release the excellent hold which he secured in the hair of the robber. At last, however, he was dislodged, and secreted himself behind a chest of drawers in the cabin.
“I’ll ’ave ’is bloody life!” shouted the fellow, starting away in pursuit, but a chum blocked his entrance to the cabin.
“Have it out with the bird some other time,” he advised, with a broad smile. “Just now we have other fish to fry. We came back to get a kid what can operate this boat. There’s something wrong with the motors. We got it up the river as far as this, and that’s about all, consarn the luck!”
“Try him again with your Peter Pratt,” advised Clay, having reference to the boy’s trick of throwing his voice. Whenever this faculty was referred to by any of the lads it was invariably known as “Peter Pratt.” “Let’s see what Peter Pratt can do for us in the way of getting possession of the Rambler.”
Jule threw his voice across the rushing, water again, but no attention whatever was paid to it.
“That’s strange!” said Alex.
“They evidently believe it to be the parrot!” said Jule.