“You won’t see that steamer for a week at the least,” persisted McLane.
“I can’t say that we shall; but, if we don’t, it will not be for any fault of O’Hara.”
“If it were my case, I would take the steamer to New York, stopping at the ‘Isles of the Sea’ on the way, making sure that I kept out of the way of the academy squadron all the time,” continued the lieutenant of the Prince.
“It’s easy enough for you to tell what you would do, Mack; but the principal knows you well enough not to trust you with a mud-scow, to say nothing of a fine steamer like the Ville d’Angers.”
“Don’t you think I could handle a steamer as well as O’Hara?” demanded the Prince, a little nettled by the raillery of the Tritonia.
“Perhaps you could; but you couldn’t find your way to the port named in your orders, according to your own confession.”
“Well, O’Hara hasn’t done it yet.”
“But he will do it, unless there is some good reason to prevent him from doing so.”
This sort of banter continued till the vice-principals came out of the main cabin with Mr. Lowington. The principal of the squadron had listened with the deepest interest to the narration of the subordinate officials. When he was informed that thirty-one of the students were on board of the steamer, on their way to the Madeiras, or roaming at their own pleasure over the ocean, he looked very anxious and troubled. The fact that Mr. Frisbone was with them afforded him some relief.
“I am rather sorry that one of you had not gone with them,” added he, fixing his gaze upon the cabin floor.