“Remember, obedience is your first duty.”
“What did I tell you?” Sydney cried, shaking Phil’s hand a moment later, as he returned with his sword. Then in an anxious voice: “I don’t like Lazar’s attitude. He came out of the cabin a minute ago looking like a thunder-cloud. He apparently was not pleased at the captain’s decision.”
“He may dislike me,” Phil answered charitably, as they entered their own room, “but I believe so far he has treated me as he would have any of us midshipmen.”
The life-boat incident raised Phil to a high place in the opinions of most officers of the ship, and the men were all devoted to him. He was their favorite midshipman after that.
This was the first time the eight big battle-ships of the Atlantic fleet had been together since their winter rendezvous at Guantanamo, Cuba, and good-natured rivalry between the ships in tests of strength and physical prowess of their crews ran high. The admiral of the fleet, a great believer in encouraging these pastimes, had given orders for a track meet to be held on shore, and all hands turned to organize their forces to win the pennant to be given to the ship that showed herself capable of producing the cleverest athletes.
“I have been pressed into service to get the entries from our ship for the meet,” Marshall announced at the mess-table that evening. “It is to take place next Saturday. We need all the good men we can get. We certainly have a prize in Lazar; he has entered for all the short runs up to the 440-yards. He held all the Annapolis records for them when he was there, and he keeps himself in fine condition.”
Phil had brightened up at the prospects for a day of field sports, and held his hand out gladly for the paper to put down his name, but when Lazar’s name passed Marshall’s lips, his face clouded and he withdrew his hand quickly.
“Syd, you should do something in the jumping line,” said Phil in a voice of feigned indifference. “I shan’t enter; I’m not in form for running.”
“Are you crazy, man?” Sydney cried. Then turning to Marshall: “He made a clean sweep last year of the short runs at Annapolis, lowered one record and equaled the others. Don’t listen to him, he is only modest; put him down for all up to the 440.”
“No, no,” cried Phil earnestly. “I’m not going to enter, so that ends it.”