“We can’t let him have all the fun,” declared Clif. “Come on.”
When the three—Nanny accompanied them—reached the lower deck they found Trolley seated upon a chest, calmly surveying the field. He held the revolver in one hand, and the sword at a parry in the other.
“No hear anything yet,” he said, grinning. “I guess——”
“Jose! Jose!”
“Gosh! there it is again,” ejaculated Nanny. “Let’s go back. I don’t want——”
“Jose! tengo hombre! Dame un galleta.”
The words ended in a wail that sent cold chills through the cadets. For a moment it was in the minds of all to beat a hasty retreat, but Clif set his teeth, and said, determinedly:
“I won’t be frightened away from here again. Some one is playing us a scurvy trick. That wasn’t French; it was Spanish. If any chump——”
“Ach, du lieber!”
Clif sat down upon a pile of hammocks and held up both hands in disgust.