At the Patrol-leader's stentorian "Ahoy!" Hepburn's tousled head appeared above the coaming. Alan was evidently in the midst of his toilet.
"Tea's nearly ready," shouted Stratton. "Mr. Armitage wants you all to come on board. We'll send the dinghy."
Within a few minutes Stratton was alongside the _Olivette_. Her crew boarded the waiting boat, Mr. Murgatroyd beaming with satisfaction at the picturesque surroundings of the sheltered creek that was to be the _Olivette's_ home port.
"Where's Bruin?" inquired Stratton. "You aren't going to leave our mascot all alone, are you, Alan?"
"'Course not," replied Hepburn, although, if the truth be told, Bruin had been overlooked in the bustle of 'snugging down and squaring up'. "Here, Bruin--come along, good dog!"
No Bruin appeared. Hepburn whistled, but without the desired result.
"He's asleep in the after-cabin, I expect," he suggested.
"You're a fine fellow to have charge of a dog," said Peter scornfully. "He ought to appear at once at your whistle."
"Then whistle him for yourself," retorted Alan.
"Not I," rejoined the Patrol-leader. "He's in your care, my festive, until you return him to the _Rosalie_."
Hepburn whistled yet again. Roche and Warkworth added their quota of noise, but "nothin' doin'".
"He's probably gnawing my boots in the after-cabin," suggested Mr. Murgatroyd; "or, if he has cannibalistic tendencies, perhaps he's going for my dog-skin gloves. Hop aboard, Hepburn, and see what mischief he is doing."
Alan clambered over the side and went below. Chuckling to himself, Stratton heard his fellow Sea Scout coaxing and whistling the invisible mascot. Then Roche joined in the search, until in desperation the twain began to empty the lockers of their varied contents, and search numerous out-of-the-way places that were to be found on even a boat of the _Olivette's_ small displacement.
"Buck up, you fellows!" shouted Peter, as the two Sea Scouts paused through sheer inability to find an unexplored hiding-place. "What are you doing? Giving Bruin a bath?"
Looking very red in the face, Hepburn came out of the fo'c'sle and announced that he couldn't find the pup anywhere.
"Perhaps he's jumped overboard again," suggested Warkworth. "Suicidal tendencies, I imagine. It's the third time--once off the bawley, then overboard from the _Rosalie_, and now----"