“Why,” explained the stranger, “I started to walk down to the port because it was so pleasant. He was sitting outside the place where I stopped for tea and muffins after I’d walked a way. I had no idea he was so—so far gone. But he must have been drinking for days,” casting a disgusted glance at his close companion whose hamlike hand never relaxed. “He learned where I was going, and he at once got a grip on my collar. He hasn’t let go since—I never saw such a man!” concluded the stranger morosely.
“His hand will drop off when he gets sound asleep,” Whistler said comfortingly. “Then we’ll sneak.”
“Don’t you believe it!” whispered the other in vast disgust. “He fell asleep after dinner, but his fingers are just clamped on to my collar. When I tried to wriggle away, he awoke. See!”
He tried to pull away from the friendly grip. At once the British seaman half aroused; but his fingers never relaxed.
“William Johnson his my nyme—
Seaman’s my hav-o-cation!
Hi’m hin this war for a penny-bun—
Hand so is hall my nation!
Hoo-roo!” mumbled the gigantic sailor, and fell asleep again.
“Now, what do you know about that?” demanded the victim of brotherly love. “And me—Well, I’m due aboard the Colodia to-day.”
“The Colodia!” exclaimed the four Navy Boys in chorus.
None of them wore a designating mark, for they had on their white service caps. But the Colodia was the Yankee destroyer to which Morgan, Torrance, Donahue and Rosenmeyer belonged. The four gazed on the stranger with increased interest at his statement.
“Say,” Whistler asked, “aren’t you George Belding? Didn’t you and your folks come up to Seacove from New York five or six years ago and spend the summer in the old Habershaw House? I’m Phil Morgan. We lived right next to the Habershaw House.”