Part 9 (1/2)

”No, sir.”

”Try it.”

Sam took hold of the rope as he had seen his instructor do, glanced up at the spot where he was expected to place himself, then set his teeth tightly together. He sought to draw himself up slowly, after the manner that he had been shown, but somehow, strong as he was, his feet refused to leave the floor.

Sam let go, wiping the perspiration from his brow, and gripped the rope again. This time he made a leap. His head hit the ceiling and he sat down on the floor heavily.

”Ouch!” howled Sam, bringing a laugh from his companions and a smile to the face of the instructor.

”Attention! You will get the knack after a little. Did you hurt your head?”

”No-sir,” answered Sam, ”but I think I made a dent in the roof.”

”Carry on again.”

The apprentice gripped the rope rather more cautiously this time, measured his distance, and with head well inclined forward, so that he might not hit the ceiling again, he gave a mighty leap.

Sam did not stop when he reached the hammock, however. He kept right on.

The hammock turned over, spilling the bedding and mattress out. But this was not all that had happened. Hickey had lost his grip on the rope. The result was that he struck the floor on the other side, flat on his back.

The floor was of cement, and the shock of the fall was severe. Sam managed to save his head, however, and sat up rubbing himself, red of face and thoroughly disgusted.

”Clumsy!” complained the officer.

”Yes, sir; but you see I've never had to go to bed that way before.”

”Try it again.”

”If it's all the same to you, sir, I think I should prefer to sleep on the floor.”

This reply brought another sharp reprimand from the officer. But their instruction in slinging hammocks was over and they turned to other matters.

CHAPTER V-TRYING OUT THEIR GRIT

Sam's billet was next to that of Louis Flink. The former was not aware of this until that night, when the lads turned in at the sound of the bugle. So close were their hammocks that either boy might have reached out and touched the other. Sam had turned in after several disastrous attempts and much quiet grumbling. Dan caught the knack of it more quickly, and so did Flink.

”Say, freckles, you're a thickhead,” jeered Flink.

”I'd rather be a thickhead than a Pennsylvania Dutchman, any day,”

retorted the freckle-faced boy. ”There's some hope for a thickhead, but there isn't any for you.”

”I'll settle with you some other time,” sneered Flink. Both were speaking in low tones, knowing that they would get at least a rebuke, were any of the officers to overhear them.

”Yes, that's your measure all right. I didn't give you away this morning. Neither did my friend, but it wasn't because we loved you. No, Blinkers, it was because we wanted to wait for the proper moment to give you the worst thras.h.i.+ng you ever had in your life. Don't bother me now; I want to go to sleep.”

The first night of their stay at the training station pa.s.sed uneventfully. At the sound of the bugle, on the following morning, all hands started up suddenly. Sam Hickey muttered drowsily and turned over.

”Get up, thickhead!” jeered Flink, giving the lad a vicious dig with his fist.