"Oh, bother duty," blurted out Herc, "when first we entered the navy, it was always duty—although that duty was mostly scrubbing decks, painting and cleaning brasswork. And now it's duty still, and——"
"So it will be to the end, old fellow," said Ned seriously. "Everyone in the navy has his duty to attend to, too. Wasn't it attention to duty that won Manila Bay, and duty that took Farragut—— Great Scott!"
The lads had been sitting facing the street near a big plate glass window. The sight that had brought Ned to his feet with such a sharp exclamation was the momentary glimpse of a familiar face passing on the street.
"Wait here for me for a while, Herc," he said. "I'll be back directly."
"What—why?" spluttered Herc, but before he could voice any more interrogations, Ned dashed from the room with the swiftness of a skyrocket, and, jamming his hat on his head, was out of the doors of the hotel in a flash, almost upsetting the porter in his haste. Herc sprang after him, but before he gained the doorway Ned was round the corner and hopelessly lost. Herc retraced his steps to the hotel and resumed his seat.
It was something like an hour later that he heard his name called through the lobby by a bell-boy. He hastened to the desk and the clerk motioned toward an ill-kempt looking man who was standing there.
"Mr. Taylor?" asked this individual.
"That's me," responded the rough-and-ready Herc, with a grin.
"I've a message for you from Mr. Strong," went on the other. "He wishes you to come to him at once."
Herc's suspicions were aroused in an instant. Perhaps this was a trap of some sort. He resolved to be cautious.