And Tom, who, after all and in spite of his friends’ frequent jokes, was not enormously large, promptly charged Dan and bore him backward on to the berth which Nelson had drawn out. As thirty inches afforded insufficient space whereon to pummel each other, they promptly rolled off to the nice crimson carpet, and had to be parted by the others, much to the regret of Barry, who was enjoying the fracas hugely and taking a hand whenever opportunity offered. The disturbance over, the four sat themselves down and looked admiringly about them. There was a locker under each berth, numerous ingenious little shelves above, and several clothes hooks against the partition. At the extreme forward end of the stateroom there was a handsome mahogany chiffonier built in between the two forward berths.
“Well, I call this pretty swell!” said Dan.
“You bet!” said Tom. “I had no idea it was like this. I thought maybe we slept in hammocks. Say, Nel, your father is a trump to let us have her.”
“That’s so,” Bob assented. “But, seems to me, he’s taking big risks. Supposing something happened to her?”
“Well, don’t you talk that way at the house,” laughed Nelson. “I had trouble enough to get dad to consent. I had to tell him that you were a regular old salt.”
“You shouldn’t lie to your father,” said Dan severely.
“I didn’t. Bob has sailed a lot—haven’t you, Bob?”
“I can sail a boat all right,” answered Bob, “but I don’t know one end of an engine from the other.”
“You won’t have to,” Nelson assured him. “I’ll look after that and you can be navigating officer.”
“Whatever that is,” murmured Dan parenthetically.