'Wait a bit!' said George Lee. 'We've got our tennis-balls to fire at him; but how is he going to fire at us?'
'That's all right,' said Chippy. 'We've played that game. I've got mine 'ere.'
He dived a hand into one of his wide-spreading pockets, and brought out a ball.
'That isn't a tennis-ball,' said Arthur scornfully.
It was not. Chippy's funds did not run to tennis-balls. It was a bottle-cork wrapped up in pieces of rag, and whipped into shape with string.
'I'll tek my chance wi' it,' said Chippy calmly, and prepared to start.
The patrol laughed as he scuttled out of the pit, and Dick stood with watch in hand to give him the proper law.
'He's a rum-looking beggar!' said Billy Seton, 'but I'll be hanged if he isn't wide-o. And I reckon he stood it uncommonly well, the way you jawed him, Arthur. He didn't get a bit raggy; he just hung on to his chance of showing himself to be a boy scout.'
'Pooh!' said Arthur. 'This is turning the whole thing into piffle. You fellows seemed to want to chivvy him, so I agreed just for the joke. But it isn't likely that we shall recognise wharf-rats as brother scouts!'
'Not likely!' cried No. 6, whose name was Reggie Parr; but the others said nothing.