“Why, I saw a fellow pulling down an American flag from a small photo gallery up the street,” said Gifford, “and I just naturally waded in.”
“And——” said Ned, a smile hovering about his lips.
“Told him not to.”
“What happened then?”
“Why, then the nasty dago spat at me. I punched him, and before I knew it the whole mob was around me. I didn’t mind the stones so much, but, oh! those rotten bananas and those ancient eggs—phew!”
“Well, it’s a good thing no bones are broken,” said Ned. “Come on, let’s get down to the boat before those fellows gather again. You want to get cleaned up.”
“You haven’t much on you,” grinned Gifford, looking at Ned’s face, blood-stained, where the stone had struck him.
Ned burst into a laugh.
“I guess not. Say, fellows, we’d better not say anything to the lieutenant about this. He might think we’d been rioting or something.”
“I guess you’re right,” agreed Stanley, “but in that case we want to look all right when he shows up.”