It was not until five minutes to the hour that the expected telegram arrived. It read:
“Administer suitable chastisement. Return delinquent at your convenience.”
The Scoutmaster made a wry face when the telegram was handed him.
“That merely confirms my opinion, Brandon,” he remarked in a low voice. “The lad’s grandfather is not only very precise in his mannerisms; he is evidently a bit of a martinet. I’ll say this for Eric: he might be a queer little chap, but he’s not a sneak. It was only by quite an accident that I found out that he has been frequently thrashed for minor offences. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’ might be all very well if carried out with fairness and moderation—although I very much doubt the wisdom of personal chastisement, except under very special circumstances. However, since Mr. Little gives me a tolerably free hand, I’ll return the delinquent at my convenience. That is: we’ll take him along with us, and hand him over to his uncle at Chichester.”
“That’s a topping idea, sir!” exclaimed the Patrol Leader. “We’ll do our best to give the lad a good time.”
“Then tell Eric the news,” continued Mr. Grant. “Or, better, send him down to me. Get under way as sharp as you can, Brandon. The Merlin has a good start, but with luck we ought to rejoin her before sunset.”
CHAPTER XVI
The Kestrel to the Rescue
The Sea Scouts needed no second bidding to get under way. The remote possibility of being able to overhaul the Merlin acted as a spur. By this time each lad knew his particular duty, and in very quick time main and mizzen sails were set, head-sails hoisted in stops, and the cable hove short.
Then, at the Patrol Leader’s word of command, the anchor was weighed and stowed in its customary place, the jib and staysail were broken out and trimmed to catch the favouring breeze, and within five minutes from the order to get under way the Kestrel was heading for the distant Solent.
Already the Merlin was hull-down, only her canvas showing above the skyline. She was roughly eight miles ahead.