“Gently, men, lift him up gently. That’s it. Now, help in the other. What a dive that was!”  
“Clean as a whistle. Best I ever saw. And think of the distance. Say, Masters, he’s a hero from Heroville.”
 
The lieutenant¹ in charge of the cutter smiled and nodded his head.
 
“Ready! Pull away, men!” he ordered. “Take us back to the ship, coxswain.”
 
The first cutter of the Monongahela swept over the tumbling waters of Chesapeake Bay under the steady impulse of four pairs of oars².
 
Lying insensible in the forward part was Nanny. Near him reclined Clif, fully³ aware of all that was going on about him, but thoroughly⁴ exhausted⁵.
 
Trolley⁶ and Joy, members of the boat’s crew, were paying much less attention to their oars than to their chum.
 
Talking among the men is generally prohibited, but in this case the rule was entirely⁷ lost sight of, and the crew conversed⁸ freely.
 
“Him should be Japan,” said Trolley, genuine admiration⁹ in his voice. “If boy do that in Japan navy they make him hero. Mikado give medal and all people sing songs.”
 
“But that is in Japan,” said Clif, with a return of his old winning smile. “Such little tricks are of common occurrence in this country. It happens every day.”
 
“Indeed it doesn’t,” broke in Joy. “Person might jump overboard, but not from the foretop. It was a lulu of a dive. And then when you touched water you didn’t stay under the surface five seconds.”
 
A rousing cheer and a tiger greeted the cutter as it swept alongside the gangway. Nanny was passed up and immediately taken to the sick bay. But when it came Clif’s turn, he rejected all aid and climbed up the side as nimbly as of yore.
 
On reaching the top of the gangway he glanced down upon a sea of enthusiastic, youthful faces. Grouped near the bulwark¹⁰ were twenty plebes. In the front rank were Toggles, Walters and others of Clif’s friends.
 
“Whoop! here he is!” shouted the former. “Up with him, fellows.”
 
Clif made an effort to escape, but he was seized and borne in triumph, wet as he was, about the deck.
 
At the procession passed the mainmast, the captain, who had been smilingly watching the scene with the other officers, stepped forward. Clif was immediately lowered to the deck.
 
“Mr. Faraday,” said the commander, “an act such as yours deserves all praise. I will mention you in my reports, and will also keep an eye on you in the future. As for that little trouble we will forget it. But I may as well add that it would be better for you and Mr. Gote to obey the rules as you find them. That will do.”
 
Clif bowed and went forward with the other cadets. He still felt, however, that he was laboring¹¹ under an unjust cloud.
 
As he reached the gun deck hatch the apothecary¹² came up and said as he hurried aft:
 
“Your friend has just recovered consciousness, Mr. Faraday. The surgeon says he’ll be all right in a day of two.”
 
“Thank God for that!” was Clif’s heartfelt comment. “Poor little chap! He has suffered enough for what he did.”
 
The words were overheard by Joy. The latter touched him on the shoulder and whispered:
 
“There’s that ‘plebe deviler,’ Cadet Corporal Sharpe, over there talking with Greene and Spendly. He looks disappointed.”
 
“He’ll look worse than that in a moment,” replied Clif, grimly.
 
Joy thrust out his lean, tanned face and gaped¹³ at him.
 
“You—you don’t mean——” he gasped¹⁴.
 
Just then Cadet Corporal Sharpe sauntered past and descended¹⁵ the ladder leading below, with a swagger. Clif followed at his heels, and Joy, after a delirious¹⁶ signal to all standing¹⁷ near, followed him.
 
As the plebe from Nebraska reached the gun deck he saw Clif confront Sharpe.
 
“You are too contemptible¹⁸ to talk to,” he heard the former say; then Clif reached out and, catching¹⁹ Sharpe’s nose between his fingers, gave it a disdainful tweak!
 
The effect upon the cadet corporal was much as if the deck overhead had suddenly been lifted off and the blue canopy²⁰ of heaven 
 
He staggered back, glaring at Clif in stupefied amazement²¹.
 
The latter’s face wore a grim look of determination; and that strange smile, which was a signal of danger to all who knew him, hovered²² about his mouth.
 
He was resting lightly upon his feet, poised²³ for the attack he knew would follow.
 
Sharpe attempted to speak, but the words came in a stuttering stream. He was wild with rage.
 
Leaping forward, he aimed a blow, but before Clif could parry it, Blakely, the big first class man, intervened.
 
“Not here, you fool,” said the latter, warningly. “This is no place for a scrap²⁴. If you want to fight the cheeky plebe go forward to the washroom.”
 
“If I want to fight?” cried Sharpe, struggling to free himself from Blakely’s detaining hands. “He pulled my nose, and I’ll kill him.”
 
“Then do it in the proper place,” was the cool reply. “Go to the washroom.”
 
“I’m perfectly²⁵ willing to fight him there or here, or any old where,” announced Clif. “And I’ll do my best to give him a thrashing he won’t forget in a hurry.”
 
“You may receive one yourself,” said the big senior. “Get those wet clothes off and meet us forward. Be quick about it. We get up anchor at five bells.”
 
Clif was attended by Joy and Trolley, and five minutes later he entered the washroom to find it almost packed with cadets.
 
A space was cleared in the center and preliminaries arranged by Joy and a second class man. Blakely was to act as referee²⁶.
 
When Clif stepped out, stripped and ready for the fray²⁷, Sharpe advanced to meet him. The hazer’s face was not pleasant to contemplate²⁸.
 
He was naturally a bully²⁹ at heart, and his disposition³⁰ was mean and small. The two attacks upon him that morning—attacks by two “miserable” plebes at that—had brought out all the vindictiveness³¹ of his petty nature.
 
Faraday confronted him calmly, but that old smile was very pronounced. Trolley and Joy, who knew it well, gleefully rubbed their hands.
 
“Time!” called Blakely. “Are you ready?”
 
“Yes,” clearly replied Clif, standing on the defensive³².
 
Sharpe barely nodded.
 
The signal came, and the two enemies—for such they were, in truth—began to spar cautiously.
 
But this caution lasted not a minute. Sharpe, plainly wild with anger, made a furious attack and succeeded in beating down Clif’s guard. The result was a stiff tap upon Faraday’s chin which sent him reeling against the bulkhead.
 
A subdued³³ howl of delight came from the members of the upper classes. The plebes looked glum³⁴, but Trolley and Joy, who were attending Clif, showed no signs of discouragement.
 
Time was again called.
 
Sharpe advanced confidently, and Clif saw him wink³⁵ at several friends.
 
The “plebe deviler” essayed the same tactics, but he did not succeed so well as before. The round ended with a furious exchange of blows which left several angry blotches³⁶ upon Sharpe’s face.
 
When the two faced each other for the third time, Clif instantly made a feint with his left and let drive with all his force with his right directly into Sharpe’s face.
 
There was a crunch³⁷ and a thud, a gasping³⁸ cry and the cadet corporal found himself upon the hard deck, his head dancing amid a whole galaxy³⁹ of stars.
 
He scrambled⁴⁰ erect⁴¹ and fairly tore himself from the hands of those about him. He was seen to tear something from his pocket and spring at Clif.
 
There was a flash, a warning cry from the spectators, then Faraday shot out both hands, landing with terrible force upon the chin and neck of the infuriated cadet.
 
Sharpe fell like a log, and at the same moment something dropped from his grasp with a metallic⁴² clatter⁴³.
 
“He’s knocked out, and pretty badly, too,” announced Blakely, amid a confused murmur⁴⁴ of voices.
 
“He deserved to be killed!” exclaimed Joy, picking up something from the deck. “Look at this!”
 
It was a claspknife, open and ready for use.
 
“That lets him out,” muttered Blakely, grimly. “He’ll not suffer from too much companionship this cruise.” Raising his voice, he added:
 
“We may have differences with plebes, but we are gentlemen. Any person who associates with Sharpe hereafter is a cad.”
 
And Blakely’s decisions were always respected.
 
“Hurray!” cheered Trolley, embracing Clif. “You bully boy from backway. You do plenty for plebes to-day. Hurray!”