Rumble! thud!
A slippery spot near the hatchway sent Clif reeling against a stanchion. Before he could recover his equilibrium he fell into the opening.
The hubbub created was enough to arouse the seven sleepers of Ephesus. Bang! went poor Clif’s heels against the sides of the passageway, and thud! he landed flat on his back at the bottom of the ladder.
He remained there half-stunned amid silence deep and profound for the space of a minute. Then he felt himself grasped by the back of the neck and yanked unceremoniously to his feet.
“Who in thunder is it?” gasped a frightened voice.
“Blamed if I know, but he’s spoiled our fun, whoever it is,” was the angry response. “Scoot, fellows, the officer of the deck will be down on us like a thousand of brick.”
Clif, fully recovered and in possession of his wits, heard a scrambling near by, and the creaking of a ladder. It was too dark for him to see anything, but he knew that the would-be hazers were stampeding from the orlop deck.
He realized that his unfortunate mishap would cause an alarm—in fact, there was already a bustling above—but he was in no hurry to get back to bed or to let any of the Crane gang seek the seclusion of their hammocks.
The rough treatment given little Nanny and the cool proposition to varnish and paint several of the plebes had aroused a feeling of resentment in Clif.
And he proceeded forthwith to make things warm for his enemies—the hazing committee of the third class.