A gilt "M." on the bow of the launch proclaimed it to be from the Manhattan, and Herc made a dive for the float as the "steamer" puffed up to the landing stage.
"Come on, Ned!" he cried. "Whoop! Here's where we join the ship! Bang! Big guns! Blow 'em up! Hurray!"
But to Herc's surprise, as he made for the inclined runway leading to the float, he was met by the menacing muzzle of a rifle.
The weapon was held by a marine—"soldier and sailor too"—behind whom stood the natty middie in charge of the float.
"Stand back!" ordered the marine sternly.
Herc regarded the leveled rifle with some apprehension and gave way a few steps to the rear.
"Don't you know enough not to try to embark till the order is given?" asked Ned, as the young midshipman scowled at the red-headed youth as if the latter had committed some heinous crime.
"Why, the boats are made to get into, aren't they?" protested Herc. "And who is that fellow in the funny uniform, anyhow?"
"That's a marine," laughed Ned. "He's on sentry duty."