"Send the boy a rope," directed the officer on the bridge. "Be careful
not to sweep him off the float. The lad doesn't seem over-bright."
Though this remark was not intended for his ears, Eph caught it
nevertheless.
"Not bright, am I?" muttered Eph, to himself. "Gracious, what a lot
of company I have in the world, then!"
Through the air the rope, deftly thrown, came swirling. Eph caught his
end of the line in a manner to make the officer say to himself:
"That boy has followed the sea. He knows as much about life on salt
water as I do."
Very deliberately Eph bent over, fastening his end of the line around
the knob on the stateroom door.
"Haul in, my hearties," he hailed.
Eph stood up, balancing himself nicely while the sailors hauled the
slack until the door lay bumping against the side hull of the gunboat.
"Look out," sang out Eph. "Little Willie, the Boy Dewey, is coming
on board."
With that he began to climb the rope, hand over hand, until he reached
the rail and clambered over, standing dripping on the deck.
"Say," remarked a petty officer, "you left the line fast to that raft."
"Certainly," nodded Eph, with cool assurance. "That's so you can haul
the door on board, too. Mother'd make a fuss if I got home without the
door to her ice chest."
"Shall we haul the door aboard, sir?" called the petty officer to the
bridge.
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