They were not quite over the bridge when the storm broke in all its force. Tropical thunder crashed with a fury that made artillery fire seem trifling. Great sheets of lightning flashed on all sides.
"Hustle, before we get drowned," laughed Sergeant Hal, breaking into a fast run. "There's shelter just beyond the end of the bridge."
The shelter for which both soldiers headed was a kiosk, barely larger than a sentry-box, that had once been erected for the convenience of the native boys who stood there with relief horses for the service of the old street car line.
The door stood open. Eager to make any port in a storm, Hal and Noll bolted inside just in time to hear an angry voice declare:
"I had them picked out—two young sergentes, mere boys. At first they were very polite—a minute later they made fun of me to my face—me, Vicente Tomba! But I shall know them again, I shall see them, and I shall make them wish they had never been born. I——"
The Filipino dandy stopped short as the two Army boys stepped briskly inside. He gave a gasp as he recognized them.
"We meet again," remarked Hal dryly.
The dandy's companion, a big, florid-faced man of forty, in the usual immaculate white duck of the white man, eyed the boys keenly.