A moment later he turned away and went back to his post on the quarter-deck, leaving Clif to hasten below.
He found his chums awaiting him. Trolley silently held up the lantern so the rays would fall upon Crane’s face. Clif gave one glance, then he fairly doubled up with mirth.
“Gorry! there’s the worse looking phiz I ever saw,” he gasped. “Ha! ha! ha! his own mamma wouldn’t know him. He’s a picture.”
Inarticulate noises came from behind the gag in Crane’s mouth. He fumed and struggled with impotent rage. But it only added to the joy of the group of plebes.
Nanny and Toggles had done their work well. Crane’s face was painted in great streaks of red, with an artistic relievo of green spots. Suspended from his chin was a shock of yellow oakum whiskers, the ends of which trailed impressively far down his breast.
As a last touch cunning little curls of the same material adorned his hair. And, taking it all in all, he was a spectacle to make Neptune weep.
“Examine his fastenings and see that they are secure,” said Clif, between chuckles. “We must take him to the quarter-deck by way of the gun deck and steerage. And he mustn’t kick.”
“That’s rather risky,” continued Toggles.
“It no cut ice,” grinned the Japanese youth, recklessly. “I go to captain’s cabin to see fun like this. It out of sight plenty much. Hurray!”
“Nanny, you collect several stewpans and three or four strings of tin cups,” continued Clif. “And be careful you don’t wake up the deck in getting them. Go through the mess chests forward. Come along, Mr. Crane, hazer-in-chief of the U. S. Naval Academy. You are about to play the most striking rôle of your eventful life.”