"The Manhattan, eh?" he repeated reflectively. "Well, in that case we shall probably see more of each other. In any case, I thank you for your assistance"—turning to Herc—"rendered after you had 'boarded' me in such unceremonious fashion."
With a pleasant smile, he turned into his cabin, picking up as he did so a suitcase which had been deposited by him at the stateroom door, just before the unhappy Herc went careening across the deck.
"Say," whispered Herc, in an awed tone, as their new acquaintance vanished into his room, "did you see the letters on the end of the suitcase?"
"No," answered Ned sleepily, "I'm too tired to pay attention to anything but that snug-looking bunk there."
So saying, he closed the door on the storm, and, seating himself on the edge of a lounge at one end of the cabin, began to remove his shoes.
But Herc would not let the subject drop.
"Well, I noticed them," he continued in the same awed voice, "and I believe that we've got ourselves in bad right on the start."
"Why, what's the trouble, Herc?" inquired Ned, interested despite himself in his red-headed companion's eager tone.
"Well," said Herc impressively, "it said 'F. A. D., Commander U. S. N.,' on that suitcase, and it looks to me as if we had started our career in the navy by an act 'of gross insubordination,' as they'd have called it at Newport."
"How do you mean?" asked the sleepy Ned, stifling a yawn.