As Sharp rushed in, Ned, exerting the full force of his steel-true muscles, swung Manners with all the energy he possessed against the infuriated sailor. The force of the collision took the breath out of Sharp, and Ned was upon him in an instant. Seizing each of the recalcitrant stragglers by the back of the neck, he banged them together till they howled for mercy.
“Well, are you ready to come along now?” demanded Ned sharply.
“All right. We’ll go,” panted Sharp, “but I’ll get even on you, Strong, if it takes me till the last day I live.”
Manners merely nodded sullenly, but it was easy to see that the fight was out of him as completely as it had evaporated from Sharp under Ned’s necessarily vigorous treatment. Ned was the last lad in the world to needlessly seek trouble. But he had taken good care to be prepared to meet it if it came to him. This is the spirit that is properly encouraged in the navy,—not a desire to bully or seek excuses for trouble, but to have a well-trained body and mind, prepared if trouble does come to meet it, in a manly fashion and without loss of dignity or sacrifice of the principles for which our navy stands.
“I’ll get even, I say!” bellowed Sharp as Ned, ignoring the Chinaman who still lay flat eying him out of his squinty eyes, marched his two tamed termagants to the door.
“You’re talking foolishly, Sharp,” rejoined Ned, calmly. “I gave you your chance. You wouldn’t take it. Now you are simply paying the penalty of your own stubbornness.”
Still muttering threats, Sharp and Manners were marched up the steps. As the Dreadnought Boy appeared with the pair that he had captured single-handed, the discipline of his little squad gave way to exclamations of amazement.
“Crickey,” exclaimed a sailor in an audible whisper, “Gunner’s-Mate Strong must be a regular man-eater! Sharp is known as a bully and Manners is no infant.”
“Judging by the looks, Strong is the daddy of them both,” grinned the man next to him, and a low laugh ran along the line.
“Bully for you, Ned!” burst out Herc.