“Hello yourself, Billy Barry!” came the answering shout.
“Whoopee!” This was Josh Freeman’s joyful contribution, as he poked a grimy face from the tiny engine room of the big flyer.
“Sling us a line,” called the captain.
Ned made the cast with a stout bit of hemp, and the aircraft was drawn alongside of the submarine.
“Put ’er there, boys,” commanded Captain Johnson, reaching for Billy’s outstretched hand; “and there’s Henri, bless you, my lad; give me the grip; sure this is good for sore eyes.”
Josh did not stop at handshaking, he encircled both boys in his brawny arms and set their ribs to cracking.
“Well, for all that’s out,” exclaimed the captain, spying Jimmy, who was just appearing above the hatch, “here’s a whole garden of daisies! Tip us your fin, Jimmy, and let me tell you that your mother is looking for you.”
“Why, I thought you had gone for a soldier, you Dover dandy,” put in Josh, as he playfully saluted Jimmy.
“Here’s another of the flock,” said Billy, pushing Reddy forward for inspection.
“When I get all of you aboard,” commented the captain, “it will look like I was trying to outdo Noah. But come a runnin’ and I’ll pack you all in somewhere, being as there are two lightweights among the four,” referring to Jimmy and Reddy, “and none of you much heavier than a pound of butter.”