“My! Quite an orator, ain’t you?” sneered the other with an evil leer.
Ned wasted no more words on him, although he fairly burned with indignation toward the fellow. He bent all his efforts to bringing young Childs back to his senses.
“You have been in the navy long enough to know what it means to be branded as a deserter, Childs,” he said. “Surely you are not going to jeopardize a promising career for the sake of such worthless inducements as this swindler holds out.”
“Swindler!” cried Childs. “Why, he promised——”
“I know. I overheard enough to understand. A gold mine. I guess it’s under his hat, and a precious poor one it must be, too. Come along, Childs, join your ship-mates outside and then I’ll come back for the rest.”
The conversation had been carried on in low tones and nobody in the room was in the least aware of what was going forward. Ned was wise in this.
Except for the men-o’-war’s-men present, everyone in the place bore the stamp of “hard character” unmistakably branded on his features. Stokers and roustabout sailors from tramp steamers, Ned adjudged most of them to be. Ugly customers, if the worst came to the worst. He began to be glad he had arranged to summon aid instantly if need be.
“Don’t go with him,” cried the swindler. “It’ll be the worse for you if you do. You’re only going to get into trouble.”
“You’ll land in trouble yourself, or I miss my guess. Childs, come on. You’re going with me.”
The young fellow hesitated undecidedly. It was plain that he was wavering. Ned decided to drive home a final nail of argument.