"Couldn't we find a trick for slipping ashore after lights out?" eagerly queried Dickey, who was not noted as a "greaser."
"Could we?" quivered Hallam, who, with few demerits against him, felt inclined to take a chance.
But Pennington, to whom he appealed, shook his head.
"Too big a risk, Hally," replied Pen. "And trebly dangerous, with that greaser, Darrin, in the class."
"Oh, stow that," growled Hallam. "Darrin is no greaser. You've got him on your black books—that's all."
"He is a greaser, I tell you," cried Pennington fiercely.
There were a score of midshipmen in this group, and many of them nodded approvingly at Pennington's statement. Though still a class leader, Dave had lost some of his popularity since his report to the police of Annapolis.
So the middies turned in, that night, with unsatisfied dreams of shore life in England.
Soon after breakfast the next morning, however, every midshipman had drawn his ten dollars, even to Pennington, who had no use for such a trifling amount.
As fast as possible the launches ranged alongside at the side gangway, taking off groups of midshipmen, everyone of whom had been cautioned to be at dock in time to board a launch in season for supper formation.