Mark caught it with a quickly uplifted hand, and politely offered it back to him.
"Don't make a silly ass of yourself," he smiled, "even if you have become our enemy."
But instead of taking it, Hilliger turned away, strode sullenly to his bicycle, mounted it, and rode off in the direction of the town and the harbour.
CHAPTER II.
THE PERIL OF THE SILVER PIT.
"Ah, this is just what I like!" declared Mark Redisham from his elevated perch on the trawler's windward bulwark. "It's heaps better than being ashore in camp!"
Darby Catchpole, seated beside him, clapped his feet together in delight.
"It's lovely," he agreed; "I wouldn't have missed it for anything."
They were far out on the blue waters of the North Sea, steaming towards the fishing grounds of the Dogger Bank in the trawler What's Wanted, an entirely new craft, owned by Catchpole's father and now making her first working trip.
"It's a pity none of the other chaps are with us," regretted Redisham.