“Well, let’s see what this boy wants,” said Chot. “He is evidently in great fear from someone in that cabin.”
“Someone?” said Fleet. “You mean something!”
“I mean what I said.”
“Push up alongside, fellows,” said Tom, “and keep quiet unless the boy talks. He’s trying to impress us to be silent.”
The lad was still holding the nose of the boat to the wind, and the sail still flapped in the breeze.
The boys paddled up alongside, worked their way around to the stern, where again the lad held a finger to his lips. On the stern of the catboat were the words: “Nellie B. of Troy.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Chot in a low tone.
“Sh! Easy there,” was the lad’s reply. “Captain’s drunk. Can you fellows take me off this blooming boat?”
“Why do you want to leave?”
“Because I don’t belong here. He kidnapped me—shanghaied me, I guess you’d call it.”