“Silly?” cried Tom, aghast.
“Certainly; absolutely so.”
Tom, in helpless confusion, looked from Bob to Charlie.
“Silly?” he repeated, in fainter accents.
His face flushed a deep crimson. Then, suddenly, all the fire in his nature flashed into a flame of burning indignation.
“It wasn’t a bit silly, sir,” he declared, fiercely.
“Now just see here, young chap”—the captain’s big finger waved before Tom’s eyes; his voice boomed through the room with appalling distinctness—“it was silly! What will Victor and Dave think when they find you and the motor car missing?”
“I—I—don’t know, sir.”
“Of course you don’t. But just imagine how worried those two boys may be.”
“Victor—perhaps; not Dave, sir. Besides, it isn’t my fault.”