Ned stepped back a few paces and took a short run. His shoulder smashed against the door with the force of a battering ram. With a crash it flew open, the flimsy lock, which had been turned from the inside, carrying away at the first assault of the husky young tar.
Inside was another room, dimmer and fouler than the other. But Ned’s fighting blood was up, and he was reckless of traps and pitfalls. He plunged into the place as the door smashed open. Nothing was visible at first, but suddenly he became aware of a pair of legs, clad in the baggy blue of the navy, sticking out from under a table. He seized hold of them and dragged out a young seaman who was a recent recruit on board the Manhattan.
“You, eh, Manners? This is a nice way to start your career in the navy! Stand up, now, before I make you.”
The young fellow, with his light hair much rumpled and a sullen look on his otherwise well-formed and pleasing features, scrambled to his feet. His natty uniform was stained and dusty. He was a sad-looking object indeed, and, moreover, appeared to be in a semi-daze.
“Stand over there,” commanded Ned sharply. “Don’t try any monkey business or you’ll get a dose of the brig that will be remembered by you the rest of your natural life.”
“Aw, see here, Strong, I——”
“Not another word. Is anyone else under there? Speak quick.”
“Yes. Seaman Sharp.”
“That all?”
“Yes.”