In another jiffy the two young chums had put off in the boat, Hal at the
oars, Jack at the tiller ropes. The gunboat was now lying to, some
seven hundred yards off the mouth of the little harbor. Hastings bent
lustily to the oars, sending the boat over the rocking water until he
was within a hundred yards of the steam craft's bridge.

"Gun boat ahoy!" roared Hal, between his hands. Then, by a slip of the
tongue, and wholly innocent of any intentional offense, he bellowed:

"Is that the 'Dad' boat?"

"What's that?" came a sharp retort from the gunboat's bridge. "Don't
try to be funny, young man!"

"Beg your pardon, sir. That was a slip of the tongue," Hal replied,
meekly, as he colored. "Are you the gunboat 'Hudson?'"

"No; I'm her commanding officer, young man! Who in blazes are you!"

"I'm the goat, it seems," muttered Hastings, under his breath. But,
aloud, he replied:

"I have the pilot you requested."

"Then why don't you bring him on board?" came the sharp question. "Did
you think I only wanted to look at a pilot?"

"All right, sir. Shall I make fast to your starboard side gangway?"
Hal called.