Then, hearing steps, Hal turned to see two sailors approaching. They wore the uniform of the United States Navy. Hastings regarded them with the friendly interest that he, like most other Americans, always felt for sailors. But the two sailors came along, talking earnestly, and did not appear to see young Hastings, who stood in close to the wall.
"When I first seen him fall," one of the sailors was saying, "I mistook him for a Navy officer. He was pretty young, but the uniform fooled me."
"He had the uniform, all right but no signs of rank on it," nodded the other sailor, thoughtfully. "Was he much hurt?"
"Oh, it won't kill him," replied the first sailor. "But—"
"I beg your pardon," interposed Hal, springing in front of the pair.
"It has just struck me that you are speaking of a comrade of mine."
"Well, he had a uniform on, just like your'n, replied the first sailor, looking Hal Hastings over quickly.
"Only the young feller we're talkin' about has red hair," added the second.
"What has happened to him?" demanded Hal, a feeling of alarm sweeping over him.
"Oh, he got in a little fight—that's all," responded the first sailor. "Bit off a little bit bigger chunk of fight than he could handle. He's kinder dazed and silly, now, and talkin' about queer things. Half an hour more, though, messmate, and I guess he'll be able to walk down to the water front all right."
Eph knocked out and dazed—among strangers! That was the sole picture that appeared to Hal Hastings's mind at that moment.