“Don't know, I'm sure,” replied Williamson. “All I know is that the three youngsters are aboard here to run the boat and show it off to the best advantage. My pay is running right along, and I've no kick at taking orders from any one of them.”
“This is where I go on smoking, anyway,” declared Truax, insolently, striking a match and lighting his pipe again. Williamson reached over, snatching the pipe from between the other man's teeth and dumping out the coals, after which the machinist coolly dropped the pipe into one of his own pockets.
“If you go on this way,” warned Williamson, “Captain Benson will get it into his head to put you on shore in a jiffy, and for good.”
“I'd like to see him try it,” sneered Sam Truax.
“You'll get your wish, if you go on the way you've been going!”
“Humph! I don't believe the Benson boy carries the size or the weight to put me ashore.”
“He doesn't need any size or weight,” retorted Williamson, crisply. “If Captain Benson wants you off this boat, it's only the matter of a moment for him to get a squad of marines [pg 105] on board—and you'll march off to the 'Rogues' March.'”
“So that's the way he'd work it, eh?” demanded Sam Truax, turning green and ugly around the lips.
“You bet it is,” retorted the machinist. “We're practically a part of the United States Navy for these few days, and naval rules will govern any game we may get into.”
On that hint things went along better in the engine room. When Hal Hastings came in to inspect he found nothing to criticise.