"Now, what's getting possession of your cranium?" smiled Hal Hastings,
weakly.

"You heard Mr. Mayhew's verdict in your case," mocked Eph, a glare in
his eyes. "A great verdict! 'Not guilty--but don't do it again'."

CHAPTER XX

COMING UP IN A TIGHT PLACE

"Sulks are no part of real manhood. Your sullen fellow is seldom, or
never, one you can tie to in trouble."

Though at first they felt some spirited resentment against the very
plain suspicions of Lieutenant Commander Mayhew, it was not long before
both the victims of the queer work of the night before began to see
that there was an abundance of reason and good sense in the naval
officer's belief and attitude.

"There's only one thing we can do, Hal," proposed Jack. "That is, to
show Mr. Mayhew, by long-continued good action, that we're just the
sort of fellows our friends believe us to be."

"Mr. Mayhew doesn't know us," Hal assented. "To a stranger our yarn
does have a fishy sound."

"If it weren't for the restriction against our going ashore," hinted
Jack, "we'd certainly hustle to land and find out all we could about
that fellow Curtis since he has been living in Blair's Cove."

"I'm under no promise, or orders, either," bristled Eph, ready to do
battle for his friends. "I can go on shore."

"No, you can't, Eph!" negatived Jack, with decision. "_You_ might be the
very next one to get into a big scrape. Then how would things look for
the whole of us?"

"Humph! I'd have my eyes open," grunted Somers.

"We thought we had ours open," smiled Hal Hastings.

"No one of our crowd will go ashore, unless ordered there by Mr. Mayhew,"
declared Benson, with emphasis. "We're not taking another solitary
chance."

"We've got all we can do to take our present medicine," muttered Hal,
making a wry face.

But they _did_ take it, and, as is always the case, with benefit to
their general sense of discipline. In fact, when ordered aboard the
gunboat, before eight o'clock the next morning, Jack Benson and Hal
Hastings, in their best uniforms, and looking as natty as could be,
appeared quite the ideal of young submarine officers.

Passing scores of cadet midshipmen, they were ushered into Lieutenant
Commander Mayhew's cabin. Doctor McCrea, the gunboat's surgeon, sat
with the commanding officer.

"I was anxious to see how you looked this morning," smiled Mr. Mayhew,
as the two naval officers rose. "How do you feel? Thoroughly
clear-headed