“Yes, but it’s no reason for letting the plebes upset all the academy traditions. Why——”
“There’s Faraday now,” interrupted Payne, nodding his head toward an approaching figure.
Clif glanced quizzically at the little group as he passed, and then joined several fourth class men gathered on the forecastle.
Payne and Ferguson reddened slightly.
“He looked as if he knew we were talking about him,” sniffed the latter.
“He probably does,” said Blakely, dryly. “He’s no fool. He knows his new move will make more row than a bunch of magpies.”
“I’d like to punch his head.”
“Don’t try it, dear boy. He’s good at that work himself. He knocked Sharpe out about as neatly as a prize fighter could. What’s that call?”
The shrill blast of a boatswain’s whistle sounded along the deck. As the tremulous piping died out, a hoarse voice called out: