“Hey there! Cut it out!” The chief sprang from his bed as though he had had an electric shock.
“What’s the huge idea?” he stormed.
“The Exec.” said Bill, “wants to see us at eight-thirty sharp. It is now seven-forty-four. And we both want breakfast, I expect. Get under a shower and you won’t feel so crabby.”
“Um!” Osceola was considerably subdued by this news. “Think he smells a rat?”
“Oh, not a chance, so far as we’re concerned. We’d be in the brig by this time if he did!”
“Good enough!” yawned Osceola, scowling furiously as he stretched the kinks out of his powerful arms.
“Hop to it, then. I’m nearly dressed—and I’m hungry enough to eat shoe-leather.”
“All right, all right—don’t lose your shirt over it. I’ll be with you in a jiffy.” The bathroom door slammed and again came the sound of rushing water as the shower was turned on.
At eight-thirty sharp the two lads found Commander Geibel seated at his desk in the Executive Office, and took their places among the other ship’s officers. There was none of the joviality which usually preambled these meetings. The Amtonia’s commissioned personnel seemed utterly mute this morning. Instead of the accustomed good-natured chaff, the various officers merely nodded to each other as they took their places and sat down. Bill noticed that all wore expressions of deep solemnity, yet the atmosphere of the cabin was charged with a current of tense excitement.
The nautical clock on the wall struck one bell. Commander Geibel, who had been studying papers on his desk blotter, came to life.