“What business have you butting in?” demanded the hawk-eyed man, pale
with anger as he saw his gull being taken away from him.
“I don’t recognize you,” spoke Ned coldly. “Come, Childs, put your
money back in your wallet and be thankful I arrived in time to save you
from being plucked by a rascal.”
“I--I am not going.”
“Not going?”
“No; you see, Strong----”
“Now see here,” began the hawk-eyed man, laying a persuasive arm,
which Ned straightway shook off, upon the Dreadnought Boy’s shoulder,
“this young fellow and me is good friends--see? I’m going to do him a
good turn. I’ve offered him some stock in the Eldorado Limited Mines
and----”
“Yes,” rejoined Ned scorchingly, “_limited_ just about describes them,
I guess.”
“But I’m a friend.”
“A what?” Ned’s eyes began to blaze dangerously.
“A friend of this lad’s. He----”
“A nice sort of friend you are,” shot out Ned witheringly. “It’s just
such land-sharks as you that get gullible young fellows like Childs
here into trouble. If it hadn’t been for me, you’d have stripped him
of his money and then left him to face the music of a court-martial. I
don’t blame him, a young, inexperienced sailor. But I haven’t words to
express my scorn of such creatures as you, who would try to induce a
lad to desert his country and the flag he has sworn to serve under.”
“My! Quite an orator, ain’t you?” sneered the other with an evil leer.
Ned wasted no more words on him, although he fairly burned with
indignation toward the fellow. He bent all his efforts to bringing
young Childs back to his senses.
“You have been in the navy long enough to know what it means to be
branded as a deserter, Childs,” he said. “Surely you are not going
to jeopardize a promising career for the sake of such worthless
inducements as this swindler holds out.”
“Swindler!” cried Childs. “Why, he promised----”
“I know. I overheard enough to understand. A gold mine. I guess it’s
under his hat, and a precious poor one it must be, too. Come along,
Childs, join your ship-mates outside and then I’ll come back for the
rest.”
The conversation had been carried on in low tones and nobody in the
room was in the least aware of what was going forward. Ned was wise in
this.
Except for the men-o’-war’s-men present, everyone in the place bore
the stamp of “hard character” unmistakably branded on his features.
Stokers and roustabout sailors from tramp steamers, Ned adjudged most
of them to be. Ugly customers, if the worst came to the worst. He began
to be glad he had arranged to summon aid instantly if need be.
“Don’t go with him,” cried the swindler. “It’ll be the worse for you if
you do. You’re only going to get into trouble.”
“You’ll land in trouble yourself, or I miss my guess. Childs, come on.
You’re going with me.”
The young fellow hesitated undecidedly. It was plain that he was
wavering. Ned decided to drive home a final nail of argument.
“If you come now, Childs, it is possible that your punishment will be
light. I’ll do my best for you. You have an excellent record and that
will be taken into consideration. Be advised. I’ve seen more of the
service than you have and know what I’m talking about. Will you come,
or shall I have to summon the patrol to take you? In that case it will
go hard with you.”
Childs’ lips trembled. He was little more than a boy, and he now began
to see the magnitude of the offence he had been contemplating.
“I’ll come, sir,” he said, “you’re right. It’s best to face the music.”
“That’s the talk. Now----”
Childs was jerked violently from Ned’s grasp. Ned made a grab and
recovered his prisoner from the hawk-eyed man, who had pulled him aside
and was whispering to him.
What happened then came so quickly that it fairly took Ned off his
feet, so to speak.
The hawk-eyed man gave a shout. Then he uttered some quick exclamations
in German in a loud tone. In a flash every man in the room but
the men-o’-war’s-men was upon his feet. From the front office the
walrus-faced proprietor came lumbering heavily in. In his hand was a
big revolver. The swindler uttered what appeared to be a signal, and
_en masse_ the stokers and long-shore loafers made a rush for Ned as
he stood with his back against the wall and Childs by his side.
“Stand back, you fellows!” cried Ned in a firm, ringing voice. “I’m
armed with the authority of the United States Navy. The man who lays
hands on me answers to the Government. Understand that?”
Seemingly they did, for the mob of brutalized, hard-bitten characters
checked its forward dash and wavered. But Schmidt, the walrus-faced
German, rallied his ranks of rowdies.
“Don’t let dot young naval pup gedt oudt of here!” he cried. “He’s a
spy! He’s looking for deserters! If you ledt him gedt oudt, a lot of
you be catched undt shofed back in der nafy brigs.”
It was a shrewd move. As Schmidt well knew, most of the habitués of his
place were men whose names figured on the list of deserters sought by
the Federal authorities. Like an avalanche the hesitating line rallied
and swept down on Ned.
“Childs, are you with me?” cried Ned, as he saw.
“Y-y-yes,” stammered the young sailor, but Ned saw that he couldn’t
place much dependence upon his ally.
The Dreadnought Boy met the onslaught with a vigor that astonished
Schmidt’s cohorts. Before his fists, which shot out into the massed
faces like piston-rods, many a tough loafer and stoker went down.
Childs, though, was borne to the ground at the first rush. His defense
was half-hearted at best and he made little attempt to resist, deeming
it a hopeless contest.
Ned did not dare to lower his defenses long enough to give the sharp
blast on his whistle that he knew would summon aid from the outside.
But pursing his lips as he drove blows right and left with flail-like
force, he contrived to send out a shrill call without the aid of his
bos’un’s pipe.
In the uproar the sound was unheard outside. In fact, it is doubtful
if even the shrill summons of the whistle could have been heard
beyond the front office, closed as the doors were. But the sound was
interpreted as some kind of a signal by Schmidt’s crowd and for an
instant they hesitated. It was Ned’s chance. He jerked Childs, who was
cowering and helpless, to his feet.
“For heaven’s sake, be a man!” he implored. “Come on, rush for the
door. We’ve one chance in a hundred of getting out.”
All this time the men from the _Manhattan_ had remained inactive. In
fact, all that occurred had taken place so swiftly that they had not
yet had time exactly to realize what was going forward.
Now, however, they sprang to their feet in a body.
“Ahoy, _Manhattans_!” shouted Ned, as he saw this. “Here’s a chance to
show the stuff you’re made of!”
Would they respond to the young petty officer’s appeal? If they did
not, Ned realized that the outlook was black indeed.