The rascals were rifling him of the plans of the pontoon-equipped aeroplane!
All at once a voice struck into the scene. Some one was coming down the road. At the top of a pair of lusty lungs the approaching individual was singing:
"A sailor's wife, a sail-or's star should be!
Star-r-r-r-r-r should be!
Star-r-r-r-r-r should be!"
"Herc!" shouted Ned.
"Ahoy, there!" came the hearty response, as Herc, who had been sauntering along the road, on his way to meet Ned, broke into a run. Something in the accent of Ned's cry had warned him that his comrade's need for help was urgent.
"Scatter!" came a sharp voice from one of the hitherto silent waylayers of the Dreadnought Boy.
Like so many leaves before a sharp puff of autumn wind, they instantly dissolved into the night. Ned, dusty, battered and furious, picked himself up. As he did so Herc plunged into the dark patch in which the desperate fight had taken place. He hailed Ned and received an instant response.
"What on earth has happened?" he exclaimed.
Ned soon told his story. His voice throbbed with anger as he talked. Ned was slow to wrath, but once aroused he was whole-souled in his anger, and surely he had justification for his rage.