he _coup de grace_, but he had forgotten that
he had not yet found his sea-legs. A roll of the ship made him lose
his balance, and he pitched head foremost into the rodent's retreat.
Like a flash the rat leapt, scampered over Laxdale's helmet, down his
back and took refuge in the breast-pocket of Wilmshurst's tunic.

Dudley beat all records in slipping off his Sam Browne and discarding
the tunic, for by the time his companion had regained his feet the
garment lay on the floor.

"Stamp on it!" yelled the now thoroughly excited and exasperated
subaltern.

"It's my tunic, remember," protested Dudley firmly as he pushed his
brother-officer aside.

Just then the door opened, and Spofforth, another member of the "Lone
Star Crush" appeared, enquiring, "What's all the row about, you
fellows? Scrapping?"

"Shut that door!" exclaimed Laxdale hurriedly. "Either in or out, old
man."

The hunters suspended operations to wipe the streams of perspiration
from their faces and to explain matters.

"Ratting, eh?" queried Spofforth. "You fellows look like a pair of
Little Willies looting a French chateau."

"Hullo! More of 'em," murmured Laxdale as the door was unceremoniously
pushed open and another of the "One Pip" officers made his appearance.
"Look alive, Danvers, and don't stand there looking in the air. Walk
in and take a pew, if you can find one."

"I've come to borrow a glass," remarked the latest arrival. "Mine's
smashed and my batman hasn't unpacked my aluminium traps. Judging by
appearances, by Jove! I've drawn a blank. What's up--a toppin' rag,
or have the water pipes burst?"

Wilmshurst and Laxdale sat on the upper bunk, Spofforth on the closed
lid of the wash-basin stand, and Danvers found a temporary
resting-place on the none too rigid top of a cabin trunk. Each man
kept his feet carefully clear of the floor, while four pairs of eyes
were fixed upon Dudley's tunic, the folds of which were pulsating under
the violent lung-movements of the sheltering rodent.

"Why not shake the brute out?" suggested Danvers.

"You try it," suggested Laxdale, whose enthusiasm was decidedly on the
wane. "Wilmshurst here has turned mouldy. He refuses point blank to
let me use his raiment of neutral colour as a door-mat. I might add
that if you've ever had the experience of a particularly active member
of the rodent family scampering down your back you wouldn't be quite so
keen."

"How about turning out the machine