CHAPTER II. CLIF ON A SCOUT.
“Clif! I say, Clif! Wake up.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Wake up, will you. There’s something in the wind.”
“Oh, go away, Toggles. Can’t you let a fellow sleep?”
“All right, if you want to see a chum hazed by——”
“Hazed! Gorry! Who is it? Where—what——”
Clif Faraday swung lightly from his hammock, and confronted a tall, slim youth clad picturesquely in a long nightshirt.
Clif himself was similarly attired, and the single garment revealed to advantage his erect, muscular figure. He was not over large for his seventeen years of age, but there was grace and strength in every line of his compact body.