And now the cadets broke into a low, monotonous chant, in time to their movements. It ran:
Sir, sir, surcingle!
Sir, sir, circle!
Sir, sir, with a shingle—
Sir, sir, sir!
As regular as drumbeats the cadets ripped out the syllables of the refrain. At each word Jack Benson's body shot higher and higher. These young men were experts in the gentle art of [pg 124] blanket-tossing. Ere long the submarine boy was going up into the air some eight or nine feet at every tautening of the blanket.
As for escape, that was out of the question. No sooner did the submarine boy touch the blanket than he shot skyward again. Had he desired to he could not have called out. The motion and the sudden jolts shook all the breath out of him.
“Ugh! Hm! Pleasant, isn't it?” uttered Hal Hastings, grimly, under his breath.
“If they try to do that to me,” whispered Eph, hotly, under his breath, “I'll fight.”
“More simpleton you, then!” Hal shot back at him in warning. “What chance do you think you stand against a crowd like this?”