“I wish that confounded sawbones had kept his poky nose out of that pail. If he hadn’t smelled the gin and stuff we’d had Faraday dead to rights. As it is now, they’ll clear him and shelve the affair among the other hazing mysteries.”
And that is just what happened. Captain Brookes held a consultation with the executive officer and surgeon; sent for Clif and asked him a few questions, which the lad cleverly evaded, then the affair was dropped.
The gallant commander had passed through the mill himself, so to speak, and he had no intention of pressing the matter. For which all concerned were truly thankful.
For several days, Clif and his fellow-plebes were compelled to endure many sly allusions to their escapade.
Upper class cadets would give elaborate imitations of the various stages of intoxication on seeing them; and cadet corporals would speak thickly when giving orders.
To all of which Clif would grimly compress his lips and nod his head as if intimating that the war was not yet over.