Creelton’s breath came in quick gasps; he felt as though something within him had ceased to exist, that animation and feeling had stopped for a moment, and then had suddenly burst the barrier in a great rush of throbbing and beating. “Oh, don’t say that, Os; you can’t think that of me,” he blurted out in his confusion.
“You may be the man,” repeated Ralph, almost oracularly, his eyes never leaving Creelton’s blanched face, with a strange wondering feeling in his heart that he would not be surprised if Creelton were his mysterious, unknown foe.
Before Creelton could make any reply, a tap was heard at the door and the midshipman in charge of the floor entered.
“Osborn and Creelton, report to the officer-in-charge immediately,” he ordered and then disappeared.
They went at once to the office where Lieutenant Fellows was in charge; Bollup was already there.
“Ordered to report to you, sir,” said Ralph.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Osborn, you are to shift roommates; you are to room with Mr. Himski,—move your things after drill to-day.”
“Very well, sir; but may I ask who has ordered the change?”
“The commandant has. And, Mr. Bollup, you are to room with Mr. Streeter; change after drill. Mr. Creelton, you are to move into a smaller room, to number 169.”
“Very well, sir; but can you tell me why this change is made?” asked Creelton.