“Go to the Frenchman for that,” advised Hale.
“Thank you; I believe I shall.”
“But what does it matter, Darrin,” asked Lieutenant Warden, “whether Pembroke is all right, or not? You turned him aside from visiting this craft, so what does it matter whether the fellow is a gentleman or the reverse?”
“Because,” replied Dave Darrin, so solemnly that some of his brother officers stared, “I have a premonition that I’m going to meet Pembroke again, and under conditions where I shall be glad to know something definite about the fellow.”
At eight bells in the evening Ensign Dalzell went on duty as officer of the deck. Darrin, aroused in season from a nap, took over the watch at midnight.
“Any orders?” asked Darrin of his chum.
“None, save the usual orders for the safety and security of the ship,” Dalzell replied. Salutes were exchanged, and the former officer of the deck hurried to his quarters.
A marine sentry paced aft, another forward. Six sailormen, including two petty officers, occupied their posts about the deck and on the bridge. Two or three of the engine-room crew were on watch below. The others on board slept, for the night was clear and the gunboat at anchorage half a mile out from the mouth of the Pasig River.
After the first tour of inspection to see that all was snug, Ensign Darrin leaned against the quarter rail, looking out over the water. By this time the sky had clouded somewhat, though the barometer remained stationary, showing that no atmospheric disturbances were to be looked for at present.
The night was so still that nothing but the discipline of trained habit prevented Ensign Darrin from nodding, then falling asleep.