"Well, he saw a row going on, and he had to run down the street and get into it. Too many fellers in the fight, and Winter—"
"Somers," interposed the second sailor.
"Yes; that was it. Somers got pretty badly used up. His scalp was cut some considerable. He was taken into a house nearby, and a doctor called in to stitch him up. Somers sent us to find his messmates. We found your friend, Hastings, and took him around there. Hastings wanted us to find you, and bring you there, messmate."
"Poor old Eph!" muttered Jack. "Tough luck, and at a bad time for us."
"We'll take you 'round to where your messmates are," volunteered the sailor. "Hastings was particular that you come at once."
"I'll get a carriage to bring Mr. Somers home in," Jack suggested.
"Oh, your messmate, Hastings, has sent a feller for a carriage," broke in the first sailor, hastily.
"Good enough," Jack nodded. "Then say, boys, I'll just run back to the hotel. I left Radwin in there. I'll be right back with you. You'll wait for me, surely, won't you?"
"Oh, sure!" chorused both sailors. Then, as Jack Benson scurried down the street, the two supposed sailors turned to each other, chuckling softly.
"Sure we'll waits" repeated one of the pair.