“What’s the trouble, O’Neil?” he asked anxiously. “No strike below, I hope; if there is we’ll all have to go down and shovel coal. If we are caught now we can be truly called pirates. Did you ever want to be a pirate, Marley?” he asked jestingly.
The sailor turned red and stammered out something which Phil did not see the necessity of understanding whether his answer were yes or no.
“Bill and I have been thinking, sir, how we might improve on the looks of this here yacht,” O’Neil answered importantly.
Phil caught the idea at once.
“Bully for you, O’Neil!” he exclaimed admiringly. “You can do anything except cut down her speed; but what do you propose?”
The sailor cast his eye knowingly about him.
“Well, sir,” he replied thoughtfully, “she’s black now; a coat of white paint wouldn’t be amiss, and a little fancy painting on the smoke-stacks and mast might hide the fact that she’s a yacht. All this bright brass can be painted too. If you say the word,” he added, “me and Bill with those pen-pushers of Mr. Impey’s can start in at once.”
“Go right ahead,” Phil said offhand. “I am sure Mr. Impey is willing, and if he happens not to be we won’t ask him.”
O’Neil saluted, and he and Marley went off to find material and men to help carry out his designs, while Phil continued on down the deck to where Takishima was seated.
He laid his hand affectionately upon the lieutenant’s shoulder.