“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.

“In a hurry, young man!”

“That’s the naval style, I guess,” murmured Jack to his chum. “No fooling
in the talk. I wonder if that fellow eats pie? Or is his temper due to
coffee?”

Answering only with a quiet grin, Hal rowed alongside the starboard side
gangway. Jack, waiting, sprang quickly to the steps, ascending, waving his
hand to Hal as he went. Young Hastings quickly shoved off, then bent to
his oars.

“Where’s the pilot?” came a stern voice, from the bridge, as Jack Benson’s
head showed above the starboard rail.