“Shredded,” suggested a thin middy, with a deep voice.
“Don’t be funny, Maxwell,” growled Crane. “This is a serious business.”
“Then come down to business. Why don’t you say that it’s about time to haze the stuffing out of that gang in the new fourth and be done with it. What’s the use of getting off a lot of confounded rot and——”
Crane reached out and caught the speaker by the neck. He gave him a tug and a shove, but before the two could come to blows they were separated.
“If you fools want to scrap, why don’t you go up in the fo’c’sle and have it out?” demanded one of the remaining four, in disgust. “Crane, take a tumble, and let’s arrange this evening’s sport. I, for one, say we ought to get up a scheme to teach that gang a lesson. There are only six of ’em, counting the Jap, and we ought to be able to handle them.”
“That’s right. And the first we must tackle is the freshest of the lot.”
“Clif Faraday?”
“Yes. Confound him, I wish Kelley had kept him ashore. He’s got more nerve and downright gall than all the rest of the gally functions together. Come, Crane, what can you offer?”
“I’ve got a scheme, but I’ll tell it in my own way or not at all,” replied the big cadet, sulkily.