“Ahoy, mates!” shouted the sailors in the foremost ’rickshaw, and then, as they saw who it was, they set up a yet louder yell.
“Come on, ship-mates! To the rescue! Hurray for Red-Head!”
“Hurry up!” shouted Herc.
The Jap ’rickshaw pullers dropped their shafts and ran for their lives. They had no desire to get mixed up in a mêlée. Out of the odd rigs in which they had been enjoying a sight-seeing spin, the sailors came jumping. Many of them were from the Manhattan, and several were from other ships. But both Dreadnought Boys were general favorites and in a jiffy the Japs were parting right and left as the American seamen waded in to the rescue of their ship-mates.
Five minutes after the arrival of the men-o’war’s-men not a Jap was to be seen, and the two boys were explaining how they had come to get into trouble.
“Red-Head, as usual,” laughed a tar from the Manhattan. “Strong, you ought to leave him tied up some place when you come ashore.”
“I like that! Haven’t I the right to take a bite to eat when I see an old wooden idol letting good grub go to waste?” expostulated Herc.
“When you’re in Rome, do as the Romans do,” put in another sailor,—the one whom the sailors nick-named “Ben Franklin.” “In some parts of the island your appetite might have been gone for good after your escapade, Master Red-Head.”
“How is that?” sputtered Herc.
Ben Franklin made an expressive gesture, signifying that Herc might have lost his head for his prank.