"You fellows got off just in time, I fancy," remarked the Senior Cadet. "Wind's piping up. They're shortening sail. Where's your kit?"
"Left it on deck," replied Geoff.
"Did you, by Jove! If I were you I'd get hold of it as fast as you can. It might be missing. Right-o; I'll come along."
With Fairclough's assistance the kitbags were recovered from the lee scuppers. In the scurry of working ship and shortening sail—the t'gallants were being taken in—the chums' scanty possessions had escaped notice; otherwise the kitbags might have been surreptitiously kicked for'ard by the "hands of the watch", and lost to sight for ever as far as their lawful owners were concerned. Even in a well conducted ship such as the Golden Vanity, it was not advisable to leave one's gear lying about.
"Your traps seem to have had a bit of Saltash luck," remarked Fairclough, eyeing the sodden articles as the chums removed them from the kitbags. "I'll lend you a blanket. Killigath, you've a spare blanket, haven't you? Grub'll be ready at seven bells. If you take my tip you'll turn in after that. I'll see to your blankets. I'll ask the Chief for permission to dry 'em. What happened to make that old hooker of yours lie over on her beam ends?"
Once more the story of the Arran Dhu had to be told.
"Better to be born lucky than rich," remarked the Senior Cadet. "Making the trip with us?"
"I don't know," replied Geoff. "We rather hope so; don't we?"
"Rather," agreed Bernard. "Where is the ship bound for?"
"Ask me another," replied Fairclough. "P'raps round the Horn. At any rate we're making for Rio and we're in a hurry. I guess the Old Man said things when he had to heave-to and pick you fellows up."
"Why?" asked Geoff innocently.
"'Cause we're having a race with the Blue Bird," explained the Senior Cadet. "She isn't one of our line. She's a rank outsider, really; but her people think she's a bit of a crack sailer. She licked the Vanity last time we raced. Before that we won. This will decide."
"But is that the object of the voyage?" inquired Bernard.
"Rather not," replied Fairclough. "It's a sort of scratch race. The Blue Bird dropped her pilot off Dungeness almost at the same time as we did, and our Old Man signalled a challenge. The first to enter Rio Harbour gets twenty quid; only you see the winner doesn't get it although she draws it from the other one——"
"Be explicit, do, Fairclough!" implored Davis, another cadet in mock entreaty.
At this interruption the Senior Cadet leant across the swing table to seize the interrupter. As he did so, Davis adroitly dived underneath the table and grasped Fairclough by his ankles. The latter found himself spread helplessly across the tilted mahogany to the dismay of the cadets who were engaged in writing up their logs. Books, paper, pencils, and other articles slid to the deck, the lowermost edge of the table pinning Davis behind his knees.
It was a complete deadlock. Fairclough, held by his ankles and sprawling head downwards across the table gripped Davis's legs; Davis underneath the table was hanging on to the Senior Cadet's ankles.
The rest of the mess chortled at the sight. It was quite permissible for a junior to try conclusions with the Senior Cadet during the Watch Below. On duty such a proceeding would be out of the question. They yelled advice and encouragement to both with the utmost impartiality.
Davis held on grimly; so did Fairclough. Neither could relinquish his hold without sacrificing a decided advantage, until Davis, a wily Welshman, released one hand and proceeded to tickle the stockinged feet of his opponent.
This had no more effect than stroking a hippopotamus with a feather. The soles of Fairclough's feet were almost as tough as leather. But the idea commended itself to the Senior Cadet for he, too, tried the effect of tickling his opponent's feet. The result decided the issue. The little Welshman writhed under the treatment. It was torture to him.
"Pax!" he gurgled.
Fairclough desisted at once. The two lads sorted themselves out, regained their feet, and helped to replace the capsized books and papers.
"Must let off steam sometimes," he remarked to Geoff. "Hallo! There's brekker. Get everything shipshape, you fellows!"
Ten minutes later Bernard and Geoff were sitting down to their first meal on board the Golden Vanity. They were provided with enamelled cups, saucers, and plates, but these were unchipped. Those on the Arran Dhu were decidedly the worse for wear. Food there was in plenty—hot rolls straight from the galley, bacon and eggs, jam, and very strong tea from a huge iron teapot, the beverage tasting delicious, condensed milk and moist brown sugar notwithstanding.
"Do you always have grub like this?" asked Bernard of Davis, who sat next to him.
The cadet grinned.
"You wait!" he replied darkly. "If you take my tip you'll stow all you can. Aboard this hooker you never know when you'll get your next meal."
"How's that?"
Davis shook his head.
"You wait!" he reiterated.
Geoff left it at that.
CHAPTER IX. Kelso and the Motor
The chums took Fairclough's advice by turning-in soon after breakfast. They did so for two reasons. One was because the other occupants of the cuddy did so; the second because they were dog-tired.
In many respects they scored heavily over two of the junior cadets—youngsters on their first voyage. Merrifield and Capperly were fresh from school—and a day-school at that. As yet they were not accustomed to "go to bed"—a landsman's expression which already they had bitterly regretted having made use of—in the presence of half a dozen others. They were very self-conscious, and felt the lack of privacy—not that anyone paid much attention to them. Also they had been very sea-sick, and were only just beginning to find their sea-legs.
On the other hand, Bernard and Geoff took naturally to their new surroundings. Compared with the somewhat cramped saloon of the Arran Dhu, and the yacht's lively motion, the cadets' cuddy of the Golden Vanity was spacious and comfortable. Also they had been used to sleeping in a dormitory.
So, hastily divesting themselves of their scanty clothing, they took to their respective bunks, rolled themselves in their borrowed blankets, and were soon fast asleep.
It was well into the First Dog Watch when they awoke, or rather, were roused by the Senior Cadet.
"You two fellows are 'on' at eight bells," he announced in matter of fact tones.
They left it at that. Evidently they were to be treated exactly the same as the rest of the mess. What their duties were, and when they had to be on watch, were as yet unsolved mysteries. For the present they were ready to congratulate themselves on their good fortune, since nothing had been done to tranship them to a homeward-bound vessel.
"I suppose they'll let our people know," remarked Geoff. "Not that it matters for a day or two. The Governor thinks we're cruising with Harrison on the Norna. Instead we're bound foreign, old son."
"'Course the captain will let them know," rejoined his chum. "There's wireless. I shouldn't be surprised if he's done so already."
They went on deck. The Golden Vanity was bowling along at a tremendous pace with a quartering wind. Not another craft was in sight. As far as the eye could reach there was nothing to be seen but an expanse of grey sky, and leaden-coloured water flecked with curling foam. At least they expected to see the canvas of the Golden Vanity's rival, the Blue Bird. They owed a debt of gratitude to the Blue Bird. But for her Captain Corbold might have taken immediate steps to send the chums home. Therefore it was something of the nature of a disappointment when they failed to catch even a glimpse of the other competitor in the impromptu race to Rio.