“Not to-day, thank you. Call around to-morrow,” scoffed Ding-dong.
As he spoke, the lad rapidly made his way forward over the turtle back of the Nomad.
A sudden idea had come to him. On this turtle back was situated the rapid-firing gun which was a part of the craft’s equipment. Joe had been polishing it that morning, the cover was off and it looked ready for instant action.
With cat-like activity and swiftness, Ding-dong made for the implement of destruction. Reaching it, he took his stand on the small platform on which it stood.
Before the astonished Captain Lawless could scramble after the lad, Ding-dong had swung the gun on its swivel, and the captain found himself gazing straight into its formidable looking muzzle.
Ding-dong had his hand on the firing lever, and the rascally skipper went white as ashes as for an instant he thought the lad was going to discharge it.
“Don’t! Don’t shoot!” he begged abjectly.
“Then you get right back where you belong,” ordered Ding-dong.
Just then he noticed that several of the crew of the schooner were about to follow their captain on board.
“You fellows, too,” ordered the boy in a sharp, shrill voice, which nevertheless rang with determination.