All afternoon and until after supper time Clif and the rest continued their preparations for the entertainment which was destined¹ to prove (so they fondly hoped) the crowning triumph in their successful campaign against the higher classes.  
The clever young leader and his clever companions had every reason to anticipate success, for had they not beaten the hazing² third class at its own game many times?
 
They had caught the spy (one of their own class, more shame to him) sent out by the enemy, and now he was stretched, bound and gagged, in one corner of the stage with little Nanny doing valiant³ sentry-go over him.
 
Clif was tactician⁴ enough to send out scouts⁵ among the other cadets to ascertain⁶ if there were signs of a plot to break up the entertainment, but all he learned was that a number of the upper cadets had secured certain articles of a vegetable nature, also several ancient specimens⁷ of hen fruit.
 
Whereat Clif chuckled⁸.
 
“They think this is a barn-storming troupe¹⁰, eh?” he said. “Well, we will fool them.”
 
It was an exceedingly warm evening. A light breeze which had been previously¹¹ blowing from the northeast, died out entirely¹² by dusk, leaving the old Monongahela rolling sluggishly¹³ upon a long heaving swell—the after effect of a gale¹⁴ in some quarter of the ocean.
 
The “Naval¹⁵ Academy Plebe Troupe” found it very sultry and close on the gun deck, and when the boys donned their heavy costumes they were a very warm set of youngsters indeed.
 
Shortly before the hour set for the performance one of the wardroom stewards¹⁶ came forward with a large wooden pail of lemonade and said it was a present from aft.
 
The plebes were delighted, and they lost no time in refreshing¹⁷ themselves.
 
“Tell them we are exceedingly obliged,” said Joy, emptying his third glass. “This is great, simply great.”
 
The man grinned and withdrew. Five minutes later the seats in front of the improvised¹⁸ stage began to fill up.
 
“To your places, fellows,” ordered Clif, who was acting¹⁹ as stage manager. “Now, remember, we’ve got a reputation to maintain. The eyes of the—er—whole world are upon us. So behave yourselves and act like—er—like——”
 
“James Owen O’Connor,” grinned Wallace.
 
A stamping of feet came from the audience. It was time for the curtain.
 
At a signal from Clif, the boys at the ropes promptly²⁰ hauled up the canvas exposing to view the expectant audience.
 
In the front row were the captain and all the officers off duty. Back of them, seated upon benches, chairs, and ditty-boxes were the cadets and part of the crew.
 
As the curtain rose above the stage a low whistle was heard, and then came a perfect hail of soft potatoes, cabbages and wads of oakum soaked in slush.
 
But these testimonials from the envious²¹ upper classmen never reached their intended destination. Clif, with commendable²² foresight²³, had provided a second curtain of netting.
 
The offering of decayed vegetables fell harmlessly to the deck and a wail²⁴ of disappointment came from the throwers.
 
“This tomfoolery must stop right now,” exclaimed the captain, rising from his chair and addressing the senior classmen. “If you cannot act as gentlemen you can leave this deck.”
 
He sat down, looking red and indignant.
 
The nondescript band upon the stage broke out into a tune²⁵ which bore a distant resemblance to the “Star Spangled Banner.” The alleged²⁶ music wound up at last, and Clif rose to his feet.
 
Those in the audience saw him pass one hand across his forehead in a half-dazed manner. He swayed slightly and was seen to grasp the arm of his chair.
 
“Captain and officers, and cadets of the Monongahela,” he began, speaking indistinctly, “it gives me—me the greatest pleasure to in—introduce to your favorable consid—consideration this talented ag—ag——”
 
He turned and glanced at Joy, and that youth, ordinarily solemn and mournful in appearance, broke into a hysterical²⁷ giggle²⁸.
 
Two members of the audience—Ferguson and Bryce—exchanged glances, and covered their mouths with their hands.
 
“Glory! it’s working,” whispered the former.
 
“Just watch the old man,” was Bryce’s reply. “He smells a rat already. This is great.”
 
Down in front the commander of the Monongahela was eying the stage with a puzzled expression on his face. One or two of the officers were smiling.
 
Suddenly Nanny began to chuckle⁹ and hold his sides as if highly amused. He attempted to leave his chair, but toppled over against Trolley²⁹.
 
“That will do,” shouted Clif, thickly. “We’ll go on with the performish. Ladies an’ gemmen, the firsh number on the pro—gramish will be rendered by the whole troupe. I’m supposed to be Father Nepchune. You all know ’m. He ish patron father of all shailors. Thatsh me. Those pecuyliar-looking animalish at each end are shea-wolves. And in th’ middle on each side—ha! ha! how’s that for Irish bull?—in the middle on each side are supposed to be mortals. Everyday ord’nary mortalish. They came down in m’—my reals—no, my realms, and now they got to amuse me before they go back to the Naval Academy.”
 
He sat down abruptly³¹ and laughed vacantly.
 
A titter ran through the audience. It quickly grew into a roar, and then the gun deck resounded³² with shouts of laughter, catcalls, and vociferous³³ applause.
 
The captain was plainly growing angry, but he managed to keep his temper.
 
“Is this part of the show?” he whispered to the first lieutenant³⁴, who sat next to him. “If so, those boys are excellent actors.”
 
“I can’t make up my mind,” replied the executive officer, watching the stage narrowly. “That youngster, Faraday, is very clever. He’s apt to spring most any kind of surprise. But, as you say, if it’s part of the play——”
 
He was interrupted by a wild howl. Trolley had suddenly leaped to his feet and was giving a grotesque³⁵ Japanese dance. His eyes were glittering and he giggled³⁶............