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"I wouldn't have minded seeing that one through," returned Joe.
Neither boy, at that moment, suspected that they would yet "see it through."
CHAPTER II
HAZING, M. B. C. K. STYLE
At the ferry slip on the San Francisco side the two motor boat boys saw the young woman again.
A big, broad-shouldered, well-dressed, wholesome looking young man of twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, came forward eagerly, hat in hand, to meet her.
"She's all right, now," declared Joe, with satisfaction. "Gracious! That husky young fellow could eat up two or three muckers like the one you punched, Tom."
"Yes; our young lady of the journey is surely all right," nodded Halstead, delighted with what he had seen. "So come along, Joe. We'll probably never see any of that party again."
Through a throng of eager cabmen the two young motor boat boys plodded sturdily. Neither had ever been in San Francisco before, but they knew that the ferry came in at the foot of Market Street, and that the Palace Hotel was but a few blocks from the water-front on the same great artery of traffic.
"Might as well walk up, and get a little bit of a look at the town," proposed Halstead.
"Which side of the street is the Palace on?" queried Joe.
"East."
"Then we'll cross over. I don't believe we can miss it."
It was a bustling crowd through which the boys steered their way. The man on the San Francisco sidewalk who is under eighty years of age is engaged in making his fortune, and has no time to lose. After he has made it, he buys an automobile, and has comparatively little need of a sidewalk.
Men from every country in Europe and the Orient passed them. There was, of course, a large sprinkling of native Americans, yet even the chance passer knew that he was moving through a throng recruited from the four quarters of the world.
To Tom the walk ended all too soon. However, they were bent on business, not pleasure, so they turned in briskly through the main entrance of the Palace Hotel as soon as a policeman had pointed it out to them.
Captain Tom Halstead stepped to the desk, picking up a pen to register. "Are Davis, Perkins, Prentiss and Randolph here ahead of us?" queried Halstead, as soon as he had written his name and his chum's.
"All of 'em," smiled the clerk, after glancing at the entry on the hotel register. "Davis, who got here first, with Perkins, engaged rooms close together for the whole party. Front! I'll have you shown right up, Captain Halstead."
The colored boy in blue uniform and brass buttons confiscated the bags and overcoats of the two young travelers, leading the way to the elevator. That bell-boy turned his head to conceal a grin that illumined his face.
"So our friends are all here ahead of us, and have everything ready?" remarked young Dawson.
The bell-boy, his head still turned away, seemed to be choking.
"I wonder if they've seen Mr. Baldwin, or heard from him?" mused Tom, aloud.
"Right dis way, sah," begged the bell-boy, stepping out of the elevator ahead of them at the third floor.
He led them down a long corridor, turned into another corridor, then halted before a door. That bell-boy gave three distinct knocks; a pause, then two more knocks.
"I reckon yo' can go right in, sah," announced the bell-boy, dropping some of his burden in order to throw the door open.
Utterly unsuspicious, Tom and Joe passed through the doorway. The instant they had done so, the bell-boy tossed their bags and coats in after them, yanked the door shut and fled, chuckling.
"Here they come! Welcome!" roared Dick Davis's deep, hearty voice.
A short hallway led from the door to the room proper. As Tom Halstead passed over the inner threshold a pair of arms reached out from either side, yanking him into the room out of Joe's sight. Dawson leaped after his chum, only to be similarly seized.
Then it snowed! At least, for a brief instant, that was what the victims thought.
Tom was neatly, ruthlessly tripped, being sent sprawling to the floor, while Ab Perkins, snatching up a bolster, which he had ripped open, shook all the fine, downy feathers over him. They sifted down the young captain's neck; they obscured his vision; some of the small feathers fell into his mouth. He fell to spitting them out with vigor, even before he tried to get up.
Nor did Joe Dawson fare any better. If anything, he was rather more roughly handled by Jed Prentiss and Jeff Randolph.
"Now, roll 'em!" roared Dick Davis.
Before either of the newcomers could rise to his feet they were rolled together in the middle of the floor. Ab lifted the mattress from the bed, plumping it down over the two victims. Then all four of the gleeful assailants threw themselves across the mattress, shoving it over the floor, using Tom and Joe, underneath, for rollers.
And, over it all, rose the famous club yell:
"M. B. C. K.! M. B. C. K.! Motor Boat Club! Wow!"
"Oh, but we're glad to see 'em!" yelled Dick Davis, in his deepest tones. "Good old chums! Keep up the welcome, fellows!"
From under the mattress Tom Halstead managed to make himself heard, though his voice sounded muffled indeed.
"Help!" he roared. "Turn out the port watch! Mutiny!"
"Port watch, ahoy! Roll up on deck, you lubbers!" roared Ab Perkins. "Cap'n wants you!"
At that Jed and Jeff left the mattress, darting to where Tom's and Joe's traveling bags lay. These they quickly opened, dumping all the contents on the floor.
"All hands to quell mutiny!" yelled Jed Prentiss. Dick Davis and Ab Perkins joined them on the jump.
That gave Tom and Joe, both very red-faced and much winded, a chance to crawl out from under the mattress.
Yet no sooner did they show their astonished faces than all four of the first-comers began to pelt them with the articles dumped from the traveling bags.
Slippers flew straight and true, landing with swats. Hair brushes, tooth-brushes, cakes of soap, boxes of tooth-powder and numerous other articles filled the air, a veritable cyclone with the fleet captain and the fleet engineer in the middle of it.
"Cut it!" commanded Tom Halstead, sternly. "Oh, if I had my revolver and handcuffs and leg-irons here. This is the last time I'll ever go on deck without 'em. But cut it – anyway!"
Dick Davis, having thrown the last missile that came to hand, and having pitched Halstead's overcoat up in the air so that it now lay hanging from the chandelier, suddenly straightened up, looking very grave as he saluted and roared out:
"Aye, aye, sir!"
At that the other three disturbers of the peace lined up with Dick, all saluting.
"What's the meaning of all this riot?" insisted Halstead, trying to keep back the grin that struggled to his face.
"After not having seen each other for all these moons," demanded Davis, in a hurt voice, "can't we do anything to show you how ding-whanged glad we are to behold you two once more?"
"Your joy takes a strange turn," grimaced Captain Tom.
"I prefer people who put their welcome in writing," retorted Joe.
At that Ab Perkins, with a whoop, made for a table. From it he snatched up a cork, one end of which had been burned to a char.
"Come on, then, fellows," proposed Ab Perkins, gleefully; "we'll write our welcome on Joe's face."
"Will you, though?" demanded Dawson, crouching low, as though for a football tackle. He caught Ab, and rising with that boisterous youth, toppled him over. Ab Perkins went sprawling; fortunately for him he landed across the mattress.
"Hold on!" expostulated Tom Halstead. "The reception committee is excused – fired – bounced, in fact. Now, stop all this monkey-business, and let's get down to trade topics. But, first of all – "
Tom paused to spit out two or three fragments of down feathers. Then he crossed to where the water pitcher stood on a tray. Pouring out a glass of water, Halstead took a mouthful, while the late mutineers looked on expectantly.
"O-oh! Ugh! Waugh! Wow!" sputtered Tom, expelling his mouthful into a waste-water jar beside the wash-stand. "That water's salt!"
"Well, what of it, you bo'sun's mate of a lobster trap?" demanded Ab Perkins, aggressively. "Is it the first time you've ever hit up against salt water?"
"Now, see here, fellows," grinned Halstead, looking around at the impish faces of the first-comers, "this is all right. We know how glad you are to see us. Your pleasure is far greater than we had ever dared to hope – "
"Oh, we can show more pleasure!" proposed Dick.
"Do it at your personal risk, then!" defied the young captain, arming himself with the water pitcher. "Now, then, will you all be quiet?"
"Oh, aye!" promised young Davis, with a sudden assumption of meekness.
"I trust you – trust you all to the death," affirmed Tom, grimly. "But I'm going to keep hold of the water pitcher just the same!"
"This deck doesn't look ship-shape, does it?" demanded Dick Davis, glancing about him. "Hadn't we better change craft? Wait here a moment."
Stepping to the push-button, he pressed twice, for the porter. Tom Halstead remained on guard, armed as before, and Joe keeping rather close to him, until the porter knocked at the door.
"See here, my friend," remarked Dick, holding out a dollar bill to the porter, "there has been a ship-wreck here."
"It looks like it, sir," grinned the porter, pocketing the money. "What'll you have, sir?"
"Find the chambermaid that belongs on this floor," begged Dick, "and bring her here."
The porter was soon back with the chambermaid, who also received a dollar bill from young Davis.
"Now, you two try some team-work, please," begged Dick Davis, "and see whether you can make this place look neat enough to be a captain's cabin. Gentlemen of the Motor Boat Club, will you adjourn to the costly quarters that Ab and myself consider almost good enough for us?"
Tom Halstead laid down the water pitcher and passed out of the room last of all.
"I reckon you'd better go into the other room first, Joe, and let me bring up the rear," called Tom, grimly. "Then we can watch, from both ends of the line, for any new tricks."
Dick Davis produced a key, admitting all hands to the adjoining room.
"Now, be seated," proposed Davis, in his most hospitable tone. The club members found chairs.
"Have you seen Mr. Baldwin?" inquired Captain Tom.
"No; but we've sent him word," Ab replied. "Mr. Baldwin has offices in the Chronicle Building."
"Is that near?" queried Halstead.
"Only a few hawser lengths from here, on the other side of Market Street," put in Jed Prentiss. "Come here to the window. There's the Chronicle Building over yonder."
"Mr. Baldwin has a telephone, of course?" suggested Captain Tom.
"Yes; 9378 Market."
"I can tell him we're here, then," murmured Tom, crossing the room to where a telephone apparatus rested against the wall.
"Don't," prompted Dick. "Mr. Baldwin has sent his orders. You can 'phone him between three and three-thirty to-day. Mustn't bother him at any other time."
"That's right, is it?" demanded Halstead, looking half-suspiciously at Davis.
"Quite right," nodded the latter youth, gravely. Dick was older than the others, being nineteen, as against a general average of sixteen years for the other boys. Dick was different in another respect. While the other five boys followed motor boating as a means of livelihood, depending upon their earnings, young Davis, the son of a ship-builder of Bath, Maine, was at all times well supplied with money. Dick's outline for the future included a possible college course, and then breaking into the ship-building business with his father. It was not yet quite decided whether young Davis should omit the college part of the plan. In the meantime, the elder Davis believed that an active membership in the Motor Boat Club would be the best possible training to fit his son for a position in the ship-yard.
"Well, if those are the instructions, then," replied Captain Tom, returning to his chair, "we'll wait until a few minutes after three."
"And now it's half-past eleven," said Jed, consulting his watch. "Luncheon will not be served until one. We can wait here as well as anywhere. Say, fellows, I'm just crazy to hear some good old yarns of what you others have been through."
With that, yarn-spinning became the order of the day. The young men were still at it when they went down to the gorgeous dining room of the Palace Hotel. The air about their table was thick with yarns all through the meal.
While they sat around the table, absorbed in one another's stories, a dark-visaged, well-dressed man of thirty started to enter the dining room. Just at the threshold, however, he paused, for his glance had alighted on a profile view of Captain Tom Halstead at one of the tables in the center of the dining room.
"That's the cub who struck me this morning," muttered the dark-faced one, drawing back. "I want to know who he is. I want to place him – I want to meet him and settle the account for that blow and the disappointment it brought about!"
Tom Halstead turned around, a moment later, but he did not see the man he had knocked from the train that morning at the Sixteenth Street station in Oakland. That worthy had drawn quickly back out of sight, and was now looking about for some hotel employé to question.
Ten minutes later he of the dark visage had all the information he felt he needed.
"Tom Halstead? So that's your name?" snarled the stranger, as he started for the street entrance. "And you're employed by Baldwin – could anything be more favorable to our meeting again, eh?" The stranger smiled darkly, meaningly, as he pronounced the name of Baldwin.
Luncheon over, the yarning motor boat boys embarked in the elevator. This time they went direct to the room assigned to Tom and Joe. The trunks of these two young men had arrived, and now rested in the room.
Once more the yarning went on, until Captain Tom checked it at exactly two minutes past three o'clock.
CHAPTER III
CAPTAIN TOM'S NEW COMMAND
"It's time for Mr. Baldwin to hear from us, now," announced the young skipper, rising and crossing to the room-telephone. He gave the number, waiting briefly.
"Hello," sounded a voice in the receiver.
"Hello," returned Tom, quietly. "Is this Mr. Baldwin?"
