The woe-begone store-keeper began muttering and wailing in Egyptian. Ned turned to the other sailors.
“Fellows, shall we pass the hat?”
A shout of assent went up. The blue-jackets’ pockets were bulging with pay and many of them had good-sized deposits in the ships’ savings banks on board.
“I’ll put in a dollar,” said one young fellow.
“Good for you, Meadows.”
Ned snatched off his cap and received Meadows’ contribution. Then he shoved the cap under Herc’s nose. The red-headed youth looked at it as he might have looked at some strange animal.
“I won’t give him a cent,” he growled, the thought of his mad dash into the brass ware shop rankling in him. A dangerous gleam shone in Ned’s eyes, which Herc duly observed.
“Herc Taylor, you put in your contribution, or——”
Herc hastened to relieve himself of a one dollar bill from a roll that was of generous girth. Quickly the other sailors gave their mites, and before long a good sum was turned over to the bazaarman, who was profuse in his expressions of thanks. But the sight of so much money had made the eyes of the bazaar beggars glitter greedily. They crowded hungrily about the sailors.
“Backsheesh!” they implored.