But
Channing heard him, eagerly. He begged the tugboat-captain to tell
him what it looked like, and as the captain told him he filled it in
and saw it as it really was.
"Perhaps they'll bombard again to-morrow," he hazarded, hopefully.
"We can't tell till we see how they're placed on the station," the
captain answered. "If there's any firing we ought to hear it about
eight o'clock to-morrow morning. We'll hear 'em before we see 'em."
Channing's conscience began to tweak him. It was time, he thought,
that Keating should be aroused and brought up to the reviving air of
the sea, but when he reached the foot of the companion-ladder, he
found that Keating was already awake and in the act of drawing the
cork from a bottle. His irritation against Channing had evaporated
and he greeted him with sleepy good-humor.
"Why, it's ol' Charlie Channing," he exclaimed, drowsily. Channing
advanced upon him swiftly.
"Here, you've had enough of that!" he commanded. "We'll be off Morro
by breakfast-time. You don't want that."
Keating, giggling foolishly, pushed him from him and retreated with
the bottle toward his berth. He lurched into it, rolled over with his
face to the ship's side, and began breathing heavily.
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