Apparently there was no question of returning the mutineers to the irons from which we had freed them. Alderson, Smith, Neidlinger, and Higgins were grouped together on the forecastle deck in amiable chat.
Blythe was still at the wheel, and our cheerful friend from the cattle country at the piano bawling out the identical chorus I had interrupted so ruthlessly just before the first blow of the mutiny was struck.
He was lustily singing as Evelyn and I trod the deck.
"Tom sings as if with conviction. I hope it may not be deep-rooted," I laughed.
"If you mean me——"
"I don't mean Miss Berry."
To my surprise she took the words seriously.
"It isn't so, Jack. Say it isn't so."
"Does that mean that it is?" I asked.
"No-o. Only I can't bear to think that our happiness will make anybody else unhappy."