“Applesauce!” David retorted, laughing. “Everyone in the senior class has had his share.”
Red hitched closer to David’s side.
“The other day,” he half whispered, “I was flat on me back under a tarpaulin in the far corner of the baggage room up in the hull, installing some wiring that’s to lead down from the observer’s seat on the top of the ship. The other fella had to go clear over to the storehouse for some wire. So I laid there tryin’ to think out a simpler and safer installation. I don’t like it the way it is, Dave. Too much danger during storms. Well, whilst I’m there, along comes Colonel Porter and himself.”
“Who is himself?” asked David.
“That big bug; the papa of us all.”
“You don’t mean Mr. Hammond?” said David.
“You got it. That’s the bird!”
“But what the devil is he doing here now? I thought he was in New York.”
“I’m the boy to tell you,” said Red, joyfully. “My brother, the chaplain, used to tell me, ‘Red, never eavesdrop; ’tis a mean and unmanly trick, unworthy of a good Christian b’y; but so be you do chance to hear anything, give it strict attention, and be sure to get the straight of it.’ So I did. They come teeterin’ along the catwalk, and stop opposite me. You know the Big Fella’s quick and light steppin’ as a cat, for all his size. Ladders and catwalks are pie for him.
“‘What’s bein’ done here?’ says the Big Fella.