A TASTE OF HAZING
"Good evening, gentlemen," nodded Dave pleasantly, as he rose
and stood by the study table, waiting to hear the pleasure of
his visitors.
Dan Dalzell favored his callers with a nod, but remained seated,
both hands thrust deep in his pockets.
"Get up on your feet, mister!" ordered one of the midshipmen,
so sternly that Dan obeyed like a shot.
"Excuse me," he began hastily. "I didn't know you came here in
an official capacity. I thought--"
"Silence, mister!" commanded another of the visitors. Dan subsided.
"What's your name, mister?" demanded the last speaker, as he favored
Dave with his next glance.
"Why, my name is Dave Darrin," replied that plebe pleasantly.
"Say 'sir,' mister, when you address an upper class man. When
asked your name, reply, 'Darrin, sir.'"
"Darrin, sir," replied Dave promptly.
"Stand at attention, both of you!" commanded another visitor.
Both plebes obeyed. Now still another caller wheeled upon Dan.
"What's your name, mister."
"Dan Dalzell."
"Dalzell--Sir!" thundered Dan's questioner.
"Dalzell, sir," Dan responded meekly enough.
"It is plain enough that both of you plebes need a good deal of
practice in the use of the word, sir. Therefore, in your next
answers, you will be careful to employ 'sir' after each word that
you utter in your reply. Mister," to Dave, "what did you come to
the Naval Academy for?"
"To, sir, become, sir, a sir, Naval, sir, officer. Sir."
"Very good, mister. Mister," to Dalzell, "why did you come here?"
"For sir, the same pur--"
"Sir, sir, sir, sir!" interrupted the quizzer. "Now, try again,
mister."
"For, sir, the, sir, same, sir, purpose, sir."
"Now, mister," continued the quizzing visitor, transfixing Dalzell
with a look of tremendous sternness, "can you talk French?"
Dan's eyes twinkled briefly.
"I don't know, sir. I never tried, sir," replied Dalzell, in pretended
embarrassment.
For a moment it looked as though Dan had turned the tables of
mischief upon his tormentors. His reply was so absurd that all
of the upper class men, for a moment, betrayed signs of twitching
at the corners of their mouths. Then all of them conquered the
desire to laugh and returned to the inquest with added severity.
The late questioner turned to one of his classmates, remarking
scornfully:
"_Touge!_"
"Very touge, indeed" replied the one addressed.
A "touge" plebe, in Naval Academy parlance, is one who is wholly
"fresh."
"Mister," continued Dan's quizzer, "we find you too full of levity
for one who intends to embrace the profession of quarter-deck
lounger. In our belief it will be necessary for you to let some
new ideas soak into your head. Mister, get your wash basin and
fill it exactly half full of water. Remember, mister--neither
a drop nor less than exactly half full."
Dan's first impulse was to grin, his second to laugh. Yet something
in the tone and look of the last speaker made "touge" Dalzell
feel that the simplest way out of difficulty would be for him
to obey as carefully and speedily as he could. So, with a hurried
"very good, sir," Dalzell turned in quest of his basin. He brought
it, just about half full, for the inspection of his imperious
visitor.
"Place it there on the floor, beside the wall," ordered the tormentor
Dan obeyed.
"Now, mister, stand on your head in that water!"
Dan flushed hotly, for an instant. He even clenched his fists.
Then, with a sudden rush of good sense to the head, he bent over
to carry out the order that he had received.
It was not as easy a feat as might be supposed, even for a rather
well trained and hardened athlete like Dan Dalzell.
He got his head into the bowl all right, and rested his hands
on the floor on either side of the bowl. It was when he tried
to throw his feet up against the wall that he came to grief.
His feet slid along the wall and came down to the floor again.
Dan fell out of the bowl with a good deal of splash.
"If, at first, you don't succeed, mister," began Midshipman Trotter,
who had constituted himself chief of the tormentors, "try, try
some more."
"I'll make it, sir," responded Dan cheerily, and his very manner,
now, inclined his tormentors to go a little more lightly with him.
At the third trial, with his eyes closed, just below the level of
the water, Dalzell succeeded in standing very solidly on his head.
The upper class men, who were all third class men, or "youngsters"
as they are unofficially termed, watched the performance with
interest.
"Rather well done, for a beginner," commented Midshipman Trotter.
"As you were, mister."
Dan, unfortunately, tried to be a bit "smart." He made a half
somersault forward, trying to spring up on his feet. He fell
back, however, and sat down squarely in what was left of the water.
"Never mind a little wet, mister," advised Midshipman Trotter,
with a very serious face. "We always rate a man as highly awkward,
however, if he breaks the washbowl."
"Which one of you is the better athlete?" suddenly asked Midshipman
Harris.
Neither chum intended to be caught, by this crowd, as wanting
in modesty.
"He is, sir," replied Dan, with great promptness, nodding toward
Darrin.
"Dalzell is, sir," contended Dave.
"In view of this conflicting testimony, we shall have to settle
the question by actual test," replied Mr. Trotter. "Mister,"
to Dan, "bale out your boat."
From the nod which accompanied this command Dalzell understood
that he was to empty the water from his wash basin so he promptly
obeyed.
"Mister," to Darrin, "launch your boat on this water here."
Plainly the "water" signified the floor. Dave brought out his
own wash basin with alacrity. Under further orders the chums
placed their bowls about four feet apart.
"Here," announced Midshipman Trotter, taking two toothpicks from
a pocket, "are a pair of oars."
Dave Darrin received the toothpicks with a grin.
"And here are your oars, mister," supplemented Mr. Trotter, handing
another pair of toothpicks to Dan Dalzell.
At this instant a faint knock was heard at the door, which opened
immediately after.
"Got a pair of beasts at work, fellows?" asked a voice. "Here
are some more young admirals who need a little help."
Four new midshipmen, in the custody of three youngsters, now stepped
into the room and the door was closed.
"Bender's in charge of the floor tonight, you know," nodded one
of the newly-arrived youngsters, "and Bender's duty-crazy. Besides,
he belongs to the second class, and hardly admits that we're alive."
On each floor a midshipman is detailed to be in charge through
the evening. He is responsible for discipline on his floor, and
must report all breaches of the rules. A midshipman who wishes
to stand well with his comrades may, when in charge of the floor,
conveniently fail to see a good many minor breaches of discipline.
When the man in charge of the floor reports all breaches that
come to his notice he is said to be duty-crazy. He is also charged
with "trying to make his mark in grease." "Grease" is high standing
on the efficiency report. As a rule the man who stands well in
"grease" stands somewhat lower in general popularity.
Midshipman Bender, second class, was, at this time, regarded as
one of the worst "greasers" of all.
"What's on?" inquired Midshipman Hayes, one of the newcomers in
the room. "Tub race?"
"No, sir; fast spurt in single-pair shells," replied Midshipman
Trotter impressively.
"Whew! You've caught some real athletes, have you?"
"That's what we want to find out," responded Mr. Trotter. "Now,
then, misters, we warn you against approaching this noble sport
in any spirit of levity! You are not to think that this work
is for your own amusement, or for anyone else's. You must try
yourselves out fairly and squarely. Our purpose is to find out
which is the better oarsman, and also which rows with the more
finish. Take your seats in your craft."
Dave and Dan seated themselves, with all possible gravity, in their
respective wash basins.
"Up oars!" commanded Mr. Trotter.
As neither plebe knew just what was meant by this command they
had to be shown how to sit holding their "oars" straight up in
the air.
"Let fall!"
This time the two new men guessed fairly well. They went through
the motions of allowing their toothpick oars to fall into row-locks.
"Now, at the outset, take your strokes from my count," directed
Mr. Trotter. "One, two three, four, five, six, seven--"
And so on. It was all ludicrously absurd, to see Dave and Dan
bending to their tasks as seriously as though they were rowing
real craft with actual oars.
One of the visiting plebes was stupid enough to giggle.
"Go over and stand by the window in arrest, mister," ordered Midshipman
Hayes. "You shall be tried later!"
Then the "boat race" continued. It soon proved to be more than
absurd; it was decidedly fatiguing. Both Dave and Dan found that
their strained positions, and the motions required of them, made
backs and shoulders ache. Their legs, too, began to suffer from
cramp.
It was not until both showed signs of decided weariness that the
race was brought to an end.
Then the cadet who had giggled was called forward, ordered to
half fill one of the washbowls and to stand on his head in it.
While this was going on there was not a smile from anyone. From
the serious faces of all this might have been one of the most
important bits of drill in the whole course at the Academy.
Dave, however, made the best impression upon the youngsters.
All the other new men came sooner or later, to the ordeal of standing
on their heads in the wet bowl, but Dave seemed destined to escape.
The rowing was carried on until all of the youngsters had tired
of this sport.
"Fall in, in platoon front," directed Midshipman Trotter.
The six plebes, solemn as owls, stood up in line, "dressing" their
line carefully.
"Now, attend me carefully," cautioned Mr. Trotter, sweeping a
stern glance down the line of plebes. "I am about to tell you
a bit of the day's news from over in Sleepy Hollow, which place
is known to Maryland geographers as the village of Annapolis.
You must attend me with extreme care, for, after I have narrated
the news, I shall question you concerning it. Do you follow me,
misters?"
"Yes, sir," came in a chorus.
"You need not answer quite as loudly," warned Midshipman Trotter,
sending a backward look over his shoulder at the door. "Now,
then, the police over in Sleepy Hol--Annapolis--today learned
the details of a yellow tragedy. Some weeks ago three Chinamen
came to town and opened a clean--I mean, a new--laundry. During
the last week, however, the public noted that the door leading
from the office to the rear room was always closed. You follow
me?"
"Yes, sir," came in an almost whispered chorus.
"Finally," continued Mr. Trotter, "one customer, more curious
than the others, reported his observations to the police. Today
the Johnny Tinplates made a raid on the place. A most curious
state of affairs came to light. So--but is this tangled tale
clear to you all as far as I have gone?"
"Yes, sir," came the whispered chorus.
"What the police learned," went on Mr. Trotter, in a voice that
now sounded slightly awestruck, "was this: a week ago the three
Chinese partners had a serious row. They quarreled, then fought.
Two of the yellow partners killed the third! And now, a serious
problem confronted the two survivors of that misunderstanding.
What was to be done with the remains of the unsuccessful disputant?"
Midshipman Trotter looked at each of the wondering plebes in turn.
It looked as though he were asking the question of them.
"I don't know, sir," admitted Dan Dalzell, at the left of the line.
"I don't know, sir," admitted the man next to Dan. So it went
down the line, until Dave Darrin, at the further end, had admitted
himself to be as much in the dark as were the others.
"Then, listen," resumed Mr. Trotter impressively. "The Chinese,
being descended from a very ancient civilization, are not only
very ingenious but also very thrifty. They were burdened with
two hundred pounds of evidence on the premises. In their extremity
the two survivors cut up their late partner, cooked him, and disposed
of the flesh at meal times."
From the gravity of the narrator's expression he appeared to be
reciting a wholly true story.
"Now, then," rasped out Midshipman Trotter, "that being the state
of affairs at the laundry--_what was the telephone number_?"
Trotter's gaze was fixed on Dan Dalzell's face almost accusingly.
"How the--" began startled Dan gruffly. Then, instantly realizing
that he was making a mistake, he broke in hastily:
"Beg your pardon, sir, but I don't understand how to get at the
telephone number."
"You try, mister," ordered Midshipman Trotter, turning to the
plebe next to Dalzell.
"I can't solve the problem, sir."
So it ran, straight down the line, each confessing his ignorance,
until finally Mr. Trotter glared at Dave Darrin.
"Come, come, mister, from the very exact narrative that I have
given, can't you deduce the telephone number of that laundry?"
"Yes, sir; I think so," answered Darrin, with a slight smile.
"Ah! Then there's a man in the squad who is more than a mere
saphead. Let us have the telephone number, mister!
"Two-ate-one-John," replied Dave promptly.
This was the correct answer. Dave had heard that "gag" before.
"Mister," beamed Mr. Trotter, "I congratulate you. You are no
mollycoddle. Your head is not over-fat, but somewhat stocked
with ideas. As soon as you have soaked in a few more ideas you
will be fit to associate with the young gentlemen at this
sailor-factory. You may, therefore, take the washbowl, fill it
half full of ideas, and stand on your head in them until they have
soaked well in!"
Poor Dave, his face flushed crimson, could have dropped in his
humiliation at having thus fallen into the trap. But he started
manfully for the washbowl, which he half filled with water. Meanwhile
the other five plebes were choking. They could have screamed
in their glee--had they dared!
Placing the bowl where ordered, Dave bent down to his knees, immersing
the top of his head in the water.
With hands on opposite sides of the bowl he balanced his feet,
preparatory to hoisting them into place against the wall.
"Up oars!" commanded Mr. Hayes dryly.
From one of the visiting plebes came an incautious giggle. Mr.
Hayes turned and marked his man with a significant stare that
made the unfortunate giggler turn red and white in turn with alarm.
At the order, "up oars," Dave Darrin sent his feet aloft. By
rare good luck he succeeded the first time trying.
There he remained, his head in the bowl of water, his feet resting
against the wall.
Just at this moment, though, the sound of trouble was in the air,
even if it reached interested ears but faintly.
A step was heard in the corridor outside. There was a faint knock.
The upper class midshipmen knew on the instant what the knock
meant--and so indeed did Dave Darrin.