“Well, so long as this is your party, I’ll say no more about dragging Charlie into it. But I’d hate to be you if his mother finds out what you’ve let him in for.”
A crack of light appeared under the door, and Charlie opened it, slipped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Here I am,” he whispered.
“Not really,” Osceola whispered back, “why, I thought it was Christmas Eve and Santa Claus had come to fill my stocking!”
“Try the other side of your bed when you get up next time, Chief,” Charlie snickered. “Why the grouch? Don’t lose your nerve. If anybody tries to hurt you, I’ll put salt on his tail.”
Osceola laughed good-humoredly. “You young scamp, if you don’t cut the comedy and do what you’re told tonight, you’ll think you’ve had salt rubbed on yours, along with the hiding you’ll get from me.”
“Thar she blows! thar she blows!” teased Charlie. “What a whale of a guy you are, Chief!”
“Pipe down—both of you!” commanded Bill. “You make more noise than an old maid’s tea party. What do you want to do—wake up the ship?”
“Well, let’s shove off then,” said Charlie in a lower tone, and started for the door.
Bill caught his arm. “Not that way,” he warned. “The ports to this cabin are regular windows, and we’re going out through them. There’s less chance of being seen.”