“There’s that ‘plebe deviler,’ Cadet Corporal Sharpe, over there talking with Greene and Spendly. He looks disappointed.”
“He’ll look worse than that in a moment,” replied Clif, grimly.
Joy thrust out his lean, tanned face and gaped at him.
“You—you don’t mean——” he gasped.
Just then Cadet Corporal Sharpe sauntered past and descended the ladder leading below, with a swagger. Clif followed at his heels, and Joy, after a delirious signal to all standing near, followed him.
As the plebe from Nebraska reached the gun deck he saw Clif confront Sharpe.
“You are too contemptible to talk to,” he heard the former say; then Clif reached out and, catching Sharpe’s nose between his fingers, gave it a disdainful tweak!
The effect upon the cadet corporal was much as if the deck overhead had suddenly been lifted off and the blue canopy of heaven exposed to view.
He staggered back, glaring at Clif in stupefied amazement.