Close behind him was the fat, oily Chinaman, protesting, almost
weepingly, that he harbored no “’Melican sailors.”
“Who was it that dodged into that room, then?” demanded Ned, indicating
a door at the farther end of the dingy, ill-lighted room, that had
banged to with a slam as he entered. The boy could have sworn that he
caught sight of a naval uniform as whoever had opened the door slipped
through it and vanished.
“That one of my frens,” explained the bland Chinee.
“What did he run away for, then?”
“He plentee much scared. Thinkee you lobber, maybe.”
In the center of the room, which was lighted, but not illumined, by a
smoky lamp suspended from the ceiling, was a table of ebony inlaid with
mother-of-pearl in fantastic Oriental patterns. Several chairs were
about the table, and to Ned’s eye they looked as if they had recently
been shoved hastily back. On the table were four cups.
“What was your friend doing here?” was Ned’s next question to the
Chinee, who had been eying him craftily as he looked about at his
surroundings.
“He dlinkum tea, so be,” was the quick response, “he likee tea velly,
velly much.”
Ned picked up one of the cups and sniffed at it. His lips curled
disgustedly.
“That cup never held tea,” he exclaimed with authority. “Now, look
here, my friend, you’re backed up against the United States government,
do you understand? Take me into that farther room at once.”
“No can do.”
“Why not?”
“You no catchum business there, so be,” was the retort, while a
sinister expression crept into the face of the Mongolian.
“I haven’t, eh?” Ned stepped forward but the Chinee slipped between him
and the door leading into the room beyond.
“You no tly get in,” spoke the Chinee warningly. He fumbled in the
loose sleeves of his blouse.
But Ned was in no mood to be trifled with. He knew as well as if he
had actually seen them, that hiding in the room beyond were some of
the stragglers from the ship. The Chinaman who owned the den had a
reputation for persuading men-o’-war’s-men to desert their ships and
join the merchant service. He was, in fact, what in seaport towns is
called a “crimp.” That is to say, for a consideration, he furnished men
to merchant ships, principally British tramp steamers. In this way he
drove a thriving trade and his pet victims were discontented navy men.
“Stand aside from that door at once,” snapped the Dreadnought Boy
angrily. “Ah--you would, would you!”
From the Chinaman’s sleeve had flashed a wicked-looking blade. But Ned
was as quick as his adversary--in fact, a shade quicker. He jumped
forward and seized the Chinaman’s wrist, wringing it till the Mongolian
yelled with pain. Then he took the knife and released his victim.
“Now are you going to open that door, or do I have to make you a
prisoner and have you locked up on a charge of resisting a United
States officer?” he shot out.
“No have key,” wailed the Chinee.
“Then I’ll take another way.”
Ned stepped back a few paces and took a short run. His shoulder smashed
against the door with the force of a battering ram. With a crash it
flew open, the flimsy lock, which had been turned from the inside,
carrying away at the first assault of the husky young tar.
Inside was another room, dimmer and fouler than the other. But Ned’s
fighting blood was up, and he was reckless of traps and pitfalls. He
plunged into the place as the door smashed open. Nothing was visible
at first, but suddenly he became aware of a pair of legs, clad in the
baggy blue of the navy, sticking out from under a table. He seized hold
of them and dragged out a young seaman who was a recent recruit on
board the _Manhattan_.
“You, eh, Manners? This is a nice way to start your career in the navy!
Stand up, now, before I make you.”
The young fellow, with his light hair much rumpled and a sullen look on
his otherwise well-formed and pleasing features, scrambled to his feet.
His natty uniform was stained and dusty. He was a sad-looking object
indeed, and, moreover, appeared to be in a semi-daze.
“Stand over there,” commanded Ned sharply. “Don’t try any monkey
business or you’ll get a dose of the brig that will be remembered by
you the rest of your natural life.”
“Aw, see here, Strong, I----”
“Not another word. Is anyone else under there? Speak quick.”
“Yes. Seaman Sharp.”
“That all?”
“Yes.”
“Where are the other men who came ashore in your liberty party?”
“I dunno,” and the tone in which this was said appeared to imply that
the speaker cared still less.
Ned paid no more attention to him for the time being. He had other work
in hand.
“Sharp, come out at once if you don’t want me to summon the patrol and
yank you out,” commanded Ned in a voice that left no mistake as to his
determination to follow out his threat.
There was a scuffling sound from under the table and out came Sharp. He
was a sullen, hang-dog looking fellow who had been years in the navy
on different ships and was now serving his third enlistment aboard the
_Manhattan_. He bore a bad reputation and had never risen from the rank
of seaman.
“Manners, I’m sorry to see you in such company,” said Ned. “It can only
lead to the brig and stoppage of your pay and shore leave. Now then,
both of you come ahead.”
“Not much!” shouted Sharp. “You overbearing, conceited young puppy!
Take that!” He aimed a terrific blow at Ned’s head, but the boy
skillfully dodged it by ducking. He made no attempt to return the blow,
remembering Captain Dunham’s instructions.
“See here, Sharp, I intended to make things as easy for you as I could,
but I won’t stand for anything like this. Now then, are you coming
peaceably or not? If you won’t come like a sensible man, and save
yourself future trouble, I’ll summon the patrol and have you taken
aboard the ship.”
Ned had previously arranged that three sharp blasts on his navy whistle
or a single shot from his revolver would mean: “Trouble, come at once.”
But he was not anxious to have trouble. If he could get the two men out
peaceably he would much prefer it.
“Come, Sharp, be a man. You, too, Manners. I’ll make things as easy as
I can for you on board if you’ll act properly. Are you coming with me?”
“No, by thunder!” roared out Sharp.
“Look to yourself, Strong!” echoed Manners. The next instant the
two closed in on the Dreadnought Boy and he was also conscious of a
terrific blow aimed at him from the rear.