"We wish you'd decide, sir," said Carline.
"Unanimous on that?" asked the Scoutmaster.
"Yes, sir," was the reply in chorus.
"Well, I'm not going to," was Mr. Grant's somewhat disconcerting response, but there was a sly twinkle in his eyes that told the crew pretty plainly that their Scoutmaster would speedily solve the perplexing problem.
"You're going to choose Scout fashion. Brandon, bring me a piece of old rope out of the junk locker, please."
The Patrol-leader brought the required article. Deliberately Mr. Grant unlaid a portion of the rope and cut off seven pieces each about three inches in length, and one piece an inch shorter.
"Now," he continued. "Face outward and don't look this way until I tell you."
Obediently the crew gazed stolidly at a fishing smack moored alongside the opposite quay, notwithstanding a strong inclination to know what was going on behind their backs.
"Now, this way!"
The Sea Scouts faced about. On the coaming of the cockpit lay the signal code-book, while from beneath the latter projected eight pieces of rope each showing an equal length.