“Clairy just sent me to the O.C. to frap the pap for having my shoes unlaced,” remarked Dave, his face flushing darkly.

“What on earth is Clairy up to?” cried Page.

“I don’t know.  I can’t see his game clearly.  But he’s certainly hunting trouble.”

“Then-----”

“See here, Page, we’ve no business holding indignation meetings in study hours.  But come to my room just as soon as release sounds—–­will you?”

“You can wager that I will,” shot back Midshipman Page as he started along the corridor.

“Hello,” hailed Midshipman Dalzell, looking up as his chum entered.  “Why, Darry, you’re angry—–­really angry.  Who has dared throw spitballs at you?”

“Quit your joking, Dan!” returned Dave Darrin, his voice quivering.  “Clairy is hunting real trouble, I imagine, and I fancy he’ll have to be obliged.”

Dave thereupon related swiftly what had happened, Dan staring in sheer amazement.  Then Dalzell jumped up.

“Where are you going?” Darrin answered.

“To interview Clairy.”

“You’d better not, Dan.  The trouble is thick enough already.”

“I’m going to interview Clairy—–­perhaps,” retorted Midshipman Dalzell.  “I’ve just thought of a perfectly good excuse for being briefly out of quarters during study hours.  I’ll be back soon—–­perhaps with some news.”

Off Dan posted.  In less than ten minutes he returned, looking even more indignant than had his chum.

“Davy,” broke forth Dalzell hotly, “that idiot is surely hunting all the trouble there is in Annapolis.”

“He went after you, then?”

“I was making believe to march straight by the fellow’s desk,” resumed Dan, “when Clairy brought me up sharply.  Told me to frap the pap for strolling with my hands in my pockets.  I didn’t do anything like that.”

In another hour indignation was running riot in that division.  Midshipman Clairy had ordered no less than eight first classmen to put themselves on report for offenses that none of them would admit having committed.

Oh, but there was wrath boiling in the quarters occupied by those eight first classmen.

Immediately after release had sounded, Page and Farley made a bee-line for Dave’s room.

“Did Clairy wet you, Farley?” demanded Darrin.

“No; I haven’t been out of my room until just now.”

“Page,” continued Darrin, “circulate rapidly in first class rooms on this deck and find out whether Clairy improperly held up any more of the fellows.  Dan was a victim, too.”

Page had five first classmen on the scene in a few minutes.  The meeting seemed doomed to resolve itself into a turmoil of angry language.

“Clairy is a hound!”

“A liar in my case!”

“He’s hunting a fight!”

“Coventry would do him more good.”

“Yes; we’ll have to call the class to deal with this.”