“Perhaps he means after his own gizzard?” slyly observed Nanny.
There was a general laugh at Trolley’s expense, and he laughed the loudest of all. Nothing could shake his good nature.
Clif stooped down and, leaning upon a broadside gun, glanced thoughtfully through the crack of the port shutter.
“Still looking for your ship?” asked Toggles, sympathetically, at his elbow.
“Yes. But, to tell the truth, I don’t know whether I care to see it again or not,” was the grave reply.
“Why not, chum? It seems to me that if it was sighted again it would clear you of any suspicion. What is your reason for not wanting to see it?”
Clif did not reply at once. Resting against the polished breech of the heavy gun, he continued to gaze into the dark wall of mist. Presently he spoke, and his serious tone surprised his hearers.
“Chums,” he said, “do you know I believe there is some mystery connected with that strange-looking ship?”
“A mystery?” echoed Nanny, wonderingly.