“That is what two of Uncle Sam’s sailormen get for mingling with the swells, Herc.”
“Don’t sailors always mingle with the swells?” inquired Herc.
“Say, you deserve to be keel-hauled for springing anything like that,” chuckled Ned. “But seriously, Herc, the days of the old-time sailor, who sought his pleasures in low groggeries and such places, have vanished. At every place we’ve stopped since the fleet left Norfolk, haven’t the men of the squadron behaved themselves like men-o’-war’s-men and gentlemen, instead of the popular idea of a sailor ashore?” Warming to his subject the young Dreadnought Boy continued: “The navy of to-day is made up of ambitious, keen-witted young fellows. Clever, clean and enthusiastic——”
“Thank you,” spoke Herc, removing his service cap, for both boys wore their uniforms, of which they were justly proud, “I hope you include me in that catalogue?”
“Not if you make the breaks you did at the St. Francis this morning,” rejoined Ned. “I thought those folks at the next table would have died laughing at you.”
“What for I’d like to know?” demanded Herc belligerently, coloring up as red as his own hair.
“Why, for one thing, when the waiter asked you if you wanted to be served ‘a la carte,’ you said, ‘No, you’d rather have it on a plate’; and then when the finger bowls came on, you squeezed your bit of lemon into the water and then hollered for sugar for the lemonade, and——”
Herc doubled up his fists furiously.
“If you weren’t my chum and side partner, Ned Strong, I’d—I’d——”
But what Herc would have done was destined never to be known, for at that instant there came a thunder of hoofs from far down the magnificent, sweeping drive, on the edge of which they were standing, and high above the noise made by the distant galloping horses rose a woman’s shrill scream.