“Put provisions aboard the Spectre at once,” ordered Frank. “See that she is completely equipped for a long cruise. You know what to do.”
Away scampered the two jolly fellows. So high were their spirits that they bubbled over, and before the yard of the machine works was crossed they fell to wrestling with each other.
“Hi, hi, chile!” sputtered Pomp, getting a grapevine on the Celt; “I kin trow yo’ jes’ as easy as yo’ like. Look out dar fo’ squalls!”
“Not much, me friend,” retorted Barney, securing an elbow lock. “One—two—three—an’ over yez go!”
They rolled around the yard for somewhile like a couple of monkeys. Neither desisted until they were completely exhausted; then each sped away to do Frank’s bidding.
“I git square wif yo’ yet, yo’ no ’count I’ishman,” cried Pomp.
“Yez aren’t the soize,” retorted Barney.
In the great, high-roofed storehouse the Spectre rested upon her stocks.
She was a marvel of beauty and symmetry. Her lines were somewhat like those of a government cruiser, yet more narrow of beam and slender.
The hull was of thinly rolled composition of aluminum and steel to insure lightness and make it impervious to a bullet. The hull was pierced just below the rail with a number of dead-eye windows, which admitted light to the hold.