“It is,” replied Talbot, “but you won’t get any till you’ve cleared up below.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed the Patrol Leader, “I’d forgotten that! Come on, lads; let’s square up and make all ship-shape below.”
The saloon was in a bit of an untidy state. The Sea Scouts on their hurried exit for the deck had tumbled out of bunks and hammocks, leaving the former littered with blankets and the latter swaying to and fro from the deck-beams. The bedding was passed out, shaken, and folded; the hammocks unshipped and stowed in their accustomed places when not in use. Quickly the disordered saloon assumed a semblance of tidiness.
“Where’s Molly?” enquired Brandon.
No one knew. She had been last seen asleep in a box under Craddock’s bunk.
All hands below joined in the search. They called the pup by name, hunted high and low, but without success.
“S’pose she wasn’t in one of the blankets when we shook them overboard?” suggested Heavitree.
“Now you mention it, I think I did hear a sort of splash,” said Symington. “It was too thick to see.”
“Let’s hope not,” continued Heavitree. “She’s not big enough to climb the companion ladder.”
“What’s the matter, lads?” enquired Mr. Grant, entering the cabin and removing his dripping cap.