“I play plenty times in my country. I was bully1 boy with eyeglass. Hurray! all Japan girls think I good thing.”
“Did they push you along?”
“He! he! you try be funny, Clif. Yes, they push me along. They say I good actor and know how to make laugh. Say, Clif, we no do one thing to other cadets when we have show. Hurray! they die with what you call—a——”
“Chills and fever?” suggested a lean, solemn-faced lad.
“No. It——”
“Measles?”
“You quit fooling, Joy, or I fracture your face. I mean the cadets die with envy.”
The group of plebes gathered about the speaker, laughed.
When quarters were over on this morning in question, the exciting news circulated throughout the ship that Clif Faraday, the cheekiest plebe of the lot, had boldly asked Captain Brookes for permission to give a minstrel show.
And the captain had actually consented.
Deep was the wrath2 on board, and many the dire3 threats made that the entertainment would come to an untimely end.
Clif was no fool. He knew that trouble would ensue. But he was looking for trouble.
The show was simply one link in a chain of reprisals4 against the common enemy—the first and third classes.
After drill the six chief conspirators5 gathered in their usual meeting place, the port side of the forecastle.
Trolley6’s remarks were laughed at, then after a period of bantering7, Clif proceeded to more serious work.
“We are not going to give an entertainment with the ease of an eastern and peaceful city,” he said, glancing aft at Ferguson, who was in the center of an animated8 group of third class men. “We will find our lines laid out in troublous places, let me tell you. I prophecy that an earthquake will strike this ship around Saturday night.”
“Hurray!” exclaimed the irrepressible Jap. “Me like earthquakes. That is the way we settle our coffee in Japan every morning. He! he!”
“Trolley,” said Joy, eying him sadly, “it is time for you to go home. When a foreigner begins to crack bad jokes he should be given his passports. As we haven’t any such papers on board, I’ll try my best to teach you the error of your ways.”
While speaking he had edged slyly toward the Japanese youth. With the last word he made a spring for him, but Trolley slipped under his arm and dashed across the forecastle.
Standing9 near the railing were Judson Greene and Chris Spendly.
Into the former ran Trolley, the shock sending him reeling against the rail. As Judson grasped at the empty air to steady himself, his cap fell overboard and was carried astern.
Greene was not a very pleasant-looking youth, despite his rather handsome face, and now he seemed positively10 ferocious11 with rage.
“What do you mean, you yellow nigger?” he howled, making a pass at Trolley. “How dare you ran into me like that? I’ll give you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry.”
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