He was not there, however. Again the weary night brought no satisfaction. Jim and Wally, heavy-eyed and yawning, gave up the watch towards daybreak, and sought their bunks thankfully, unable to keep awake any longer.
Mr. Dixon was sarcastic at the expense of the amateur detectives.
“Too much reading of penny-dreadfuls, and visiting picture-shows,” said he, acidly. “I’ve heard that it makes people think in melodrama, and it also appears to make them see weird flashes that aren’t there!”
“They were there!” said Wally, hotly. “We all three saw them.”
“I’m sure you thought you did,” said the chief officer, with a soothing note that was more irritating than acidity. “Now you must keep a good look-out for the sea-serpent; that’s a daylight affair, and doesn’t necessitate extra night-watches.” He yawned cavernously. “No more sitting up for me, thank goodness!—the old man reckons this business is a frost.”
The captain bore out this statement, in terms less calculated to hurt.
“We have to consider the possibility of a mistake,” he told them. “And I can’t keep men out of bed indefinitely. The officer of the watch will have special instructions for vigilance! I think that some underhand business was going on, but that the interruption on the first night scared the offender permanently.” Whereat Wally groaned with extreme bitterness.
“Cheer up!” Jim said, smiting him on the back in the privacy of their cabin. “I’m not going to give in; if he’s there, we’ll get him yet.” But though they watched as much as youth and sleepiness would let them, the nights went by, and there was no further appearance of the mysterious signals.