"I don't know but what you are right, Herc," rejoined Ned thoughtfully. "I've been thinking that if we go on as we are, we will be doing the same old round of duties on grandpa's farm ten years from now, just as we are doing to-day. Things don't change much in the country, as you know, while in the navy——"
Ned stopped, but his glowing face and sparkling eyes finished the speech for him.
"While in the navy, bing! bang!—Promotion.—Fire the guns!—Target!—Good shot!—First mate!—Medal!—Introduction to the president.—Up in the fighting-top.—Down in a submarine.—Bottom of the sea.—Top of the mast—whoop!" exploded Herc, in a way that he had when he was excited. It was for all the world like listening to the detonations of an exploding package of firecrackers.
"Well, the poster here does say that there are a lot of good chances for promotion," soberly put in Ned, who had been examining the text below the lithograph with some attention, while Herc had been exploding. "I've a good mind to try it, Herc," he concluded suddenly.
"Count me in on that, too," heartily rejoined his cousin, giving a few impromptu steps of what he declared was a sailor's hornpipe; "and when we're both admirals we'll come back here and astonish the natives—including Hank Harkins."
"Who said Hank Harkins?" growled a harsh voice from the rear of the store, for the postoffice was tucked away in one corner of the Lambs' Corners Emporium, in which, it was the boast of its proprietor, you could buy anything from a needle to a gang-plow.
As the words reached the boys' ears, a tall, hulking youth, of about their own age—shouldered his way through the knot of loungers gathered about the stove—for it was December, and cold.
"I'll thank you two to keep my name out of your conversation," growled the newcomer, as he lurched up to the cousins.
"Oh, we'd not use it unless we had to," rejoined Herc, facing round, his red hair seeming to bristle like the hackles on the back of an angry dog. "Since you were mean enough to persuade your father to post his land against us so that we could not take the short cut to the store, we are not likely to want to discuss your points,—good or otherwise—promiscuous."
"See here, Herc Taylor," glowered Hank, who had considerable reputation in the village as a bully, and had sustained his renown as a hard fighter and wrestler in many a tough contest, "I don't know what you mean by promiscuous——"