"You mean you're looking at him and not for him. I'm Motor Matt."
"Well, I'm Ensign Glennie. What the dickens are you doing at Port-of-Spain?"
"What the dickens are you doing here? We were to pick you up at Georgetown."
"What I'm doing here is my business," said Glennie, stiffening. "I wasn't expecting you for two or three days yet, and expected to be in Georgetown by the time you got there."
Matt stared at the haughty young man in the trim uniform. Dick Ferral, who was in the boat with him, gave a long whistle.
"Then," said Matt coolly, "I guess our reason for being here is our own business. We were expecting to find a midshipman, Glennie, and not——"
"Mister Glennie," struck in the ensign. "I'm a passed midshipman and a commissioned officer."
Dick got to his feet, pulled off his cap, and bowed.
"Mister Glennie!" he exclaimed, with an accent on the "mister" that was not entirely respectful. "Our brass band has been given shore-leave, so we can't muster the outfit and play you aboard. It's a little bit hard, too, considering our limited number, to dress ship."
A smothered laugh came from the deck of the Grampus. Glennie stared at Ferral, and then at Speake, Gaines, Clackett, and Carl. The latter, grabbing the flag halyards, dipped the ensign.