Clif could hardly repress a chuckle, although he fully realized the gravity of their position. With his ever-present sense of humor, he saw that he could have a “high old time” at Crane’s expense.
“I’ll give him the scare of his life,” he grinned. “He’ll think he’s got some old sea dog of Revolutionary times for a roommate.”
As a prelude he rattled several bottles on a shelf near his elbow, and gave a deep sigh.
Crane gasped, and a noise like chattering teeth came through the darkness.
“Wh-wh-what’s that?” demanded the third class cadet.
Another sigh and more rattling of bottles. Then Clif jumped twice upon a tin cannister. After that he groaned.
This last was too much for Crane. With a half-suppressed howl he broke for the door and burst into the orlop passage, Clif, shaking with laughter, peeped out.
As he did so he looked almost into the face of a youth clad in cadet’s trousers, and a naval officer’s blouse and cap.
It was Toggles!