A BIT OF PROMOTION.
"Strong," began the captain, "I sent for you to ask you a few
questions. As you know, I have taken some interest in you since I
witnessed your courageous behavior aboard the _Rhode Island_."
Ned blushed hotly, but said nothing. The captain's remark did not seem
to call for a reply.
"You have ambitions, and your friend Taylor has also, I presume."
"Yes, sir," replied Ned; "we wish to advance ourselves in our chosen
profession, sir."
"I am going to give you a chance," was the rejoinder. "You are, of
course, acquainted with the rudiments of gunnery?"
"Yes, sir. We were schooled in the elements of gun practice at Newport."
"So I perceived by a perusal of your papers."
This was news to Ned, who had not hitherto dreamed that the commander
of a vessel like the _Manhattan_ would have time to pay any attention
to two mere ordinary seamen. In this, however, he was mistaken. The
officers of the United States Navy are ever on the lookout for new
material, and watch any promising youngsters with keen interest, giving
them every opportunity to show what they can do.
"I am going to put you and your friend Taylor on a gun crew."
"Oh, thank you, sir!" burst out Ned, his eyes almost popping out of his
head, but preserving a cool exterior, nevertheless.
"Wait a minute. I have not finished yet," went on the captain, with a
twinkle in his eye. "Your friend Taylor is er-er somewhat impulsive, I
should imagine?"
"Well, yes, sir; but he had plenty of provocation for what he did
the other day," spoke up Ned boldly. He was delighted that a chance
had come to tell the facts in the case which poor Herc, in his
embarrassment, had neglected doing.
"So I understood. The man Kennell, I understand, attacked him. For this
reason Taylor will be released to-day. But even so, he had his recourse
in reporting the matter."
"That was not all, sir," broke out Ned.
"Not all? What do you mean?"
"That I saw the man Kennell deliberately trip Herc--Seaman Taylor,
I mean, sir--as he was walking the boom the day he boarded the
_Manhattan_."
"You mean the day you dived over after him? It was pluckily done."
"Yes, sir. Kennell had been badgering him in the boat, and then
deliberately tripped him."
"That chimes in with the reports I have heard about Kennell," remarked
the captain. "However, that matter is past, and official action cannot
now be taken. I have spoken to the gunnery officer, Lieutenant Timmons,
about you two boys, and to-morrow you will be a part of the crew of the
fifteen-inch guns in the forward turret."
Ned's heart was too full for utterance. He stammered his thanks, and
obeying the captain's curt nod of dismissal, hastened from the cabin,
his head fairly buzzing over the good luck that had come to them.
"If I am not mistaken," thought the captain, as Ned left the cabin, "I
have selected two good bits of material in those lads for Timmons. Yet
the experiments with that Varian gun are going to be dangerous, and
perhaps I was wrong to place those two boys in peril. However, the life
of a sailor is made up of risk and danger, and there is no more danger
with that gun than with any other piece of modern ordnance. It is only
because it is untried that it seems more fraught with possible mishap."
Had the captain possessed the gift of prophecy---- But what man or
woman does? If they did, perhaps many of the experiments which have
proved of the biggest ultimate benefit to the world would never have
been tried.
Ned, his head fairly buzzing with his good fortune, hastened forward.
He wished he could communicate with Herc and cheer up that captive by
news of their good fortune. Musing thus, he had the misfortune, as he
reached the fore deck, to collide with a man hastening in an opposite
direction.
He looked up with a quick word of apology, and found himself gazing
full into the scowling features of the Dreadnought Boys' arch
enemy--Kennell!
"Out of my way, you young mucker!" glowered the man, with a look of
hatred, "or I'll maul you up as badly as I did that red-headed young
cub."
"You mean my friend, Herc Taylor."
"I said 'cub!'"
"And I said friend!"
Ned returned the man's glare firmly.
"I see I shall have to give you a good lesson, too, one of these days!"
hissed Kennell evilly.
Ned, fresh from the presence of the captain, proud of his
promotion--for so he considered it, the twelve-inch turret being
the "prize detail" of the ship--had no desire to get into a fistic
argument. He knew the captain was a stickler for discipline, for all
his kind heart, and that with one of the Dreadnought Boys already
undergoing punishment, although unjustly, it would be the worst thing
that could happen for him to become embroiled with Kennell.
He therefore regarded Kennell with a cold stare and said sharply:
"Let me pass, please. I am in a hurry and have no time to waste."
Kennell planted his bulky form squarely in the Dreadnought Boy's path.
"You'll pass when I get good and ready," he grated out. "It's time you
boys learned a lesson or two, and I'm going to give it to you!"
"I said let me pass," repeated Ned firmly, making a determined
effort to quell his rising tide of hot anger at the fellow's evident
determination to provoke him into a quarrel.
"Call me 'sir' when you address me," ordered Kennell pugnaciously. "I'm
going to teach you how to address your seniors in the service."
"I only say 'sir' to men I respect," was the sharp retort, the very
coolness of which stung Kennell to renewed fury. His rage was increased
by the fact that a group of sailors, momentarily growing larger, began
to titter at his discomfiture.
"Better leave him alone, Ralph," laughed old Tom mischievously. "He's
as sharp a young file as I am an old one."
Ned took advantage of the temporary diversion to try to slip past
without trouble. He had his own ideas of getting even with Kennell, and
it was no part of his plan to break regulations by getting involved in
a fight with him on shipboard. He stepped forward to pass on.
Kennell was too quick for him.
"Say 'sir'!" he demanded.
"I have already told you for whom I reserved that distinction," said
Ned in a low voice, "and you are emphatically not in that class."
"Maybe this will teach you respect for your superiors."
A huge, gnarled fist, knotted and twisted by many a battle, shook under
Ned's nose.
The undismayed boy gave a low laugh of contempt.
"You'd better put that hand to work, instead of going round trying to
scare people with it," he said stingingly.
"I will put it to work. SO!"
Wh-oo-oo-f!
The fist fairly whistled as it shot out with the force of a torpedo
speeding on its destructive way.
But Ned was not in its path. Thrown off his balance by the boy's quick
avoidance of the sledge-hammer blow, Kennell stumbled forward.
Quick as a whip snap, Ned stepped under his guard and planted a
crushing blow in the fighter's ribs.
But delivered as it was, with the full force of the Dreadnought Boy's
well-trained muscle, it seemed hardly to sway the bullock-like frame
of the ship's blusterer.
"I've got the fight of my life on my hands," was Ned's quick thought,
as Kennell, recovering himself, prepared, with a confident grin, to
annihilate his young opponent.