The morning lesson was to consist of instruction in the different running ropes. At the very outset Cadet Corporal Sharpe had held up a manilla line leading aloft amid a perfect maze of others and had sharply demanded of Nanny its name.
The lad hazarded a guess and was immediately pounced upon as outlined at the commencement of this chapter. After noting down Clif’s offense in his book, the corporal proceeded with the lesson. And it was evident from his air of complacent satisfaction that he thoroughly enjoyed the situation.
He took Clif in hand.
“You have put on more airs than an admiral since the academy was unfortunate enough to admit you,” he snarled, “and it’s about time you found out that you do not run the whole show. You have raised the Old Nick in your own estimation, and, simply because you and your gang came out ahead in hazing once or twice you think you can do as you please. What’s that—talking back to a superior officer, eh?”
Out came the book once more. Making an entry, the corporal restored it to his pocket.
Clif had not spoken, but that fact made little difference. The hazer was out for trouble.
Those standing near Clif saw two round, red spots appear upon his cheeks, but he was still apparently cool.
Trolley and Toggles looked their disgust, but they had too wholesome a respect for discipline to interfere.
Little Nanny—he was barely within the limits of size at the entrance examination—seemed troubled and excited. He was not a lad of very strong character, but he had one attribute, and that was faithful affection.