"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 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.
At the minute of eleven o'clock a squad of some twenty cadets came
marching down to the landing in front of the boat house. There
Lieutenant Commander Mayhew and one of his engineer officers met them.
Two cutters manned by sailors brought the party out alongside, where
Jack and Hal stood ready to receive them.