"
"Oh, you do," snapped Mother angrily, "and pray tell me what that
reason might be?"
"Your son Oswald," replied the Ensign laconically.
"What!" exclaimed Mother, "you mean to say that my Oswald is not good
enough to go to your silly old school?"
"No," replied the Ensign, weakening pitifully before the withering
fury of an aroused mother, "but you see, my dear madam, he has not a
first class rating."
"Fiddlesticks!" said Mother.
"Crossed anchors," replied the Ensign.
"I didn't mean that," continued Mother, "I think the whole thing is
very mysterious and silly, and I'm not going to let it stop here. You
can trust me, Oswald," she went on soothingly. "I am going to see the
Commander of the station myself. I am going this very instant."
"But, Mother," I cried in desperation, tossing all consequences to the
wind, "the 'skipper' isn't on the station to-day. He got a 43-hour
liberty. I saw him check out of the gate myself."
For a moment the Ensign's jaw dropped. I watched him anxiously. Then
with perfect composure he turned to Mother and came through like a
little gentleman.
"Yes, madam," he stated, "your son is right. I heard his name read out
with the liberty party only a moment ago.
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