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 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?"
Just as suddenly as it had begun the blanket tossing stopped. Yet, hardly had Jack been allowed to step out than Hal Hastings was unceremoniously dropped athwart the blanket. The tossing began again, to the chant of:
Sir, sir, surcingle!
Sir, sir, circle!
Right plentifully were these cadet midshipmen avenging themselves for having had to say "sir" to these young submarine boys that day.
"Woof!" breathed Jack, as soon as breath entered his body again. Eph clenched his fists tightly, as Hal continued to go higher and higher. But at last Hastings's ordeal was over.