"Aw, look, fellows, you know I was framed," Hanlon planted himself in front of them, and made himself look hurt, nor was that any effort. This really cut deep. But he had to "play it out"; had to make them keep on thinking his disgrace was real.
"You guys know I'd never do anything like that," he continued plaintively. "I didn't cheat—didn't need to. I know I lost my head when he accused me, but anyone'd do that."
"You mean you were never caught cheating before," Trowbridge sneered. "You sure had me ... us ... all fooled. Now scram, or else...." He doubled his fists and took a step toward Hanlon.
The latter still played out his string, but his heart was sick. He liked the fellows—they had been among his best friends for five long, happy years. Only now was he truly beginning to realize what a tremendous price he was paying ... and would have to pay all his life.
He stepped in and swung ... and was instantly the target for flying fists. He was knocked down several times, but always managed to get up again. He had been well trained in fighting of all types—and now he was putting all his knowledge and skill into use—but only for defense and the pretense of attack.
Even so he was getting badly mauled, for they were as well trained—and were five to his one. His clothes were dirty and ripped from the knock-downs, and a button was torn off his coat. His knuckles were skinned, and he could feel that his face was becoming a mass of bruises. A hard left connected with his mouth, and he spat out a broken tooth.
"'Ten-shun!" a commanding voice suddenly broke in.
Instantly the five Corpsmen jumped back and, so ingrained was the training he had received, so did Hanlon, to come at salute as they saw a High Admiral climbing out of a ground-cab at the curb.
Hanlon, instantly realizing he wasn't in uniform and was supposedly a discharged Corpsman, quickly dropped his salute and slouched truculently.
"What's going on here!" the officer asked icily.