Anyway, I'm strong for this yacht-cruisin' stuff when there's no Rupert interference. It's so sort of chummy. And with a girl like Vee, to share it with—well, I don't care how long it lasts, that's all.
And the next thing we knows there goes the luncheon gong. As we climbs down to the main deck where we can get a view forward, Vee gives me a nudge and snickers. J. Dudley Simms is still roostin' alongside the wireless cabin; and just beyond, crouched behind a stanchion with one ear juttin' out, is Captain Killam.
"Fine!" says I. "Rupert's got a steady job, eh?"
About then the other folks commence mobilizin' for a drive on the dinin'-room, and someone calls Dudley to come along.
"Just a moment," says he, scribblin' on a pad. "There!" and he hands a message over to Meyers.
"Ha, ha!" says a hoarse voice behind him.
Then things happened quick. Rupert makes a sudden pounce. He grabs Dudley, pinnin' his arms to his sides, and starts weavin' a rope around him.
"Oh, I say!" says Dudley. "What the deuce?"
"Traitor!" hisses Rupert dramatic. "You will, will you?"
J. Dudley may look like a Percy boy, too, but he ain't one to stand bein' wrapped up like a parcels-post package, or for the hissin' act—not when he's in the dark as to what it's all about. He just naturally cuts loose with the rough stuff himself. A skillful squirm or two, and he gets his elbows loose. Then, when he gets a close-up of who's tryin' to snare him, he pushes a snappy left in on Rupert's nose.