Juanita Windom,
Ruo Ferdinand No. 78.
“Windom?” he muttered. “Why, that’s an English name. Her father must be either English or American. That accounts for her excellent command of the language. This is getting more interesting.”
His thoughts were interrupted by a shout, and he found himself surrounded by his friends. They were all laughing gayly except Joy, whose funereal cast of countenance seemed to have increased.
“Hi, Clif!” cried Trolley, slapping him upon the back, “by Jim, you great hero. Hurray! you save bracelet and win beautifulist girl in Lisbon. You one dandy.”
“Slowly there, Trolley,” laughed Clif; “I don’t see where I have won a girl.”
“She likes you; I saw her blush,” put in Nanny Gote. “Just you wait, Clif Faraday. I’ll tell Tess Herndon back in Annapolis all about this affair. I’d be ashamed of myself if I were you.”
“That’s straight,” chuckled Grat Wallace. “He’s getting to be a regular masher. He’s not content to keep the upper classes guessing about hazing, and saving torpedo boats at sea, and such little things, but he needs must——”
He dodged to escape a blow from Clif’s hand, and darted in high glee to the forecastle.
“Better go down and get those wet duds off,” advised Toggles. “You’ll look better.”
“Clif Faraday, what is the matter with the diver boy?” demanded Joy, solemnly. “He’s looking at this ship as if he would like to eat it.”