"See here, Harding," he snapped out, "do you know anything about dynamite?"
"Eh? What? Yes, of course. But, good gracious, what's that got to do with——"
"Everything. Dynamite doesn't say or do much till it goes off, does it?"
"What are you driving at, my dear fellow, I——"
"Just this;" Jack's eyes fairly snapped in the starlight, as he looked straight into Harding's weak, good-natured countenance; "don't monkey with high explosives. Savvy?"
Harding's eyes fell. He mumbled something. For a minute he was abashed, but he soon regained his spirits.
"Forgive me, Hickey," he exclaimed, "and you, too, Rafter and Divver. I thought you were just a bunch of kids, but now I see you are the real thing. Blown in the bottle, this side up, and all that.
"Say, do you know," he went on, lowering his voice cautiously and bending forward as if afraid the coffee-colored sentry pacing near by might overhear, "for a while I even thought you were imposters."
"No!" exclaimed Jack, starting back in well-assumed amazement.
"Fact, I assure you. Funny, wasn't it?"