See! He
was just sending a message to some of his gang."
"Eh!" snorts Mr. Ellins. "A message?"
Meyers fishes it out of his pocket and hands it over.
"Huh!" says Old Hickory, puzzlin' it out. "'Advise how infant is
doing. Send care yacht _Agnes_, off Charleston.' Dudley, what infant
is this?"
Dudley grins sheepish. "Consolidated Munitions," says he.
"Oh!" says Old Hickory. "A war infant, eh? I see." Then he whirls on
Rupert. "And by what idiotic inference, Killam, did you conjure up
this rubbish about a plot?"
Rupert, he turns and stares indignant at me. Old Hickory follows the
accusin' look, and next thing I know I'm in the spot light for fair.
"Hah!" observes Mr. Ellins. "You, eh?"
Now, there's only one rule I got for dealin' with the big boss. I
stick to facts and make 'em snappy.
"Uh-huh," says I. "Me."
"You thought it humorous, I presume," he goes on, "to tell this silly
yarn to Captain Killam?"
"But he didn't," speaks up Vee. "He was telling it to me; that is, we
were telling it to each other--making it up as we went along. So
there!"
"Oh!" says Mr. Ellins. "And the Captain happened to overhear, did he?"
"Happened!" says I. "Like you happen to climb a fire-escape. That's
Rupert's long suit--overhearin' things.
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