"Then whistle him for yourself," retorted Alan.
"Not I," rejoined the Patrol-leader. "He's in your care, my festive, until you return him to the Rosalie."
Hepburn whistled yet again. Roche and Warkworth added their quota of noise, but "nothin' doin'".
"He's probably gnawing my boots in the after-cabin," suggested Mr. Murgatroyd; "or, if he has cannibalistic tendencies, perhaps he's going for my dog-skin gloves. Hop aboard, Hepburn, and see what mischief he is doing."
Alan clambered over the side and went below. Chuckling to himself, Stratton heard his fellow Sea Scout coaxing and whistling the invisible mascot. Then Roche joined in the search, until in desperation the twain began to empty the lockers of their varied contents, and search numerous out-of-the-way places that were to be found on even a boat of the Olivette's small displacement.
"Buck up, you fellows!" shouted Peter, as the two Sea Scouts paused through sheer inability to find an unexplored hiding-place. "What are you doing? Giving Bruin a bath?"
Looking very red in the face, Hepburn came out of the fo'c'sle and announced that he couldn't find the pup anywhere.
"Perhaps he's jumped overboard again," suggested Warkworth. "Suicidal tendencies, I imagine. It's the third time—once off the bawley, then overboard from the Rosalie, and now——"
"Shut up!" ejaculated Alan, who, in common with the other Sea Scouts, was genuinely fond of the animal.
"When and where did you last see him?" inquired the Patrol-leader.