"Eh!" snorts Mr. Ellins. "A message?"
Meyers fishes it out of his pocket and hands it over.
"Huh!" says Old Hickory, puzzlin' it out. "'Advise how infant is doing. Send care yacht Agnes, off Charleston.' Dudley, what infant is this?"
Dudley grins sheepish. "Consolidated Munitions," says he.
"Oh!" says Old Hickory. "A war infant, eh? I see." Then he whirls on Rupert. "And by what idiotic inference, Killam, did you conjure up this rubbish about a plot?"
Rupert, he turns and stares indignant at me. Old Hickory follows the accusin' look, and next thing I know I'm in the spot light for fair.
"Hah!" observes Mr. Ellins. "You, eh?"
Now, there's only one rule I got for dealin' with the big boss. I stick to facts and make 'em snappy.
"Uh-huh," says I. "Me."
"You thought it humorous, I presume," he goes on, "to tell this silly yarn to Captain Killam?"