In the morning the commandant of cadets, as commanding officer of the squadron, would go ashore with his aide and pay a formal call to the senior military officer.  Later in the day that English officer and one or two of his staff officers would return the call by coming out to the flagship.  That accomplished, all the required courtesies would have been observed.

It was still broad daylight, for in summer the English twilight is a long one, and darkness does not settle down until late.

“Oh, if we were only going ashore to-night!” murmured Hallam.  There were many others to echo the thought, but all knew that it could not be done.

“Couldn’t we find a trick for slipping ashore after lights out?” eagerly queried Dickey, who was not noted as a “greaser.”

“Could we?” quivered Hallam, who, with few demerits against him, felt inclined to take a chance.

But Pennington, to whom he appealed, shook his head.

“Too big a risk, Hally,” replied Pen.  “And trebly dangerous, with that greaser, Darrin, in the class.”

“Oh, stow that,” growled Hallam.  “Darrin is no greaser.  You’ve got him on your black books—­that’s all.”

“He is a greaser, I tell you,” cried Pennington fiercely.

There were a score of midshipmen in this group, and many of them nodded approvingly at Pennington’s statement.  Though still a class leader, Dave had lost some of his popularity since his report to the police of Annapolis.

So the middies turned in, that night, with unsatisfied dreams of shore life in England.

Soon after breakfast the next morning, however, every midshipman had drawn his ten dollars, even to Pennington, who had no use for such a trifling amount.

As fast as possible the launches ranged alongside at the side gangway, taking off groups of midshipmen, everyone of whom had been cautioned to be at dock in time to board a launch in season for supper formation.

Pennington and his party were among the first to land.  They hurried away.

It was on the second trip of one of the launches that Dave, Dan and Farley made their get away.  These three chums had agreed to stick together during the day.  They landed at the Great Western Docks, to find themselves surrounded by eager British cabbies.

“Are we going to take a cab and get more quickly and intelligently to the best part of the town to see?” asked Farley.

“I don’t vote for it,” replied Darrin.  “We have only five dollars apiece for each of the two days we’re to be ashore.  I move that we put in the forenoon, anyway, in prowling about the town for ourselves.  We’ll learn more than we would by riding.”

“Come on, then,” approved Dan.

Plymouth is an old-fashioned English seaport that has been rather famous ever since the thirteenth century.  Many parts of the town, including whole streets, look as though the houses had been built since that time.  This is especially true of many of the streets near the water front.