Gregory heard the summons to the recitation. He had not studied his lessons, and the call was an unpleasant one to him. The after-effect of the heavy drams of Burgundy he had taken was not only to make him cross, like a wilful child, but as ugly as a hungry wild beast. He looked at the Josephines of the starboard watch, as they passed into the cabin; and they appeared to him like lambs going to the slaughter. Not that they all, or even many of them, objected to the recitations; but he judged them by himself, and interpreted their feelings by his own. He was utterly opposed to the quarter-watch arrangement, which seemed to be connected with the study scheme, inasmuch as it afforded every student his needed recreation without interfering with his lessons in ordinary weather. He wanted the four hours’ leisure when his watch was off duty. Before the students had all seated themselves at the tables arranged for study purposes, Clinch came to the main door of the cabin, at which Gregory was standing. They had been cronies since they came into the Josephine, and each understood the other perfectly. Like many others, they had both been sent to the academy squadron after being expelled from other literary institutions. They would have passed for bad boys before; but the novel discipline of the nautical school had at least produced a temporary reform. They had not been made over in their minds and hearts, as many had; but they had been transformed into obedient sailors and diligent scholars. This was not enough; but it was better than nothing. Gregory was fourth lieutenant, and Clinch third master, of the Josephine; and no doubt they had fairly won these positions by their attention and zeal. “Bob Clinch,” called Gregory, as the third officer was passing into the cabin. “What do you want, Dave?” demanded Clinch. “I want to see you.” “What for?” “Come out here, and I will tell you.” Gregory led the way to the port side of the deck, and hauled his friend into a corner where he could speak to him without interruption. But suddenly he seemed to change his mind, and conducted him to the mess-room, which was not occupied at this time. Taking from its hiding-place in the bottom of a locker one of the bottles of Burgundy, he filled a couple of glasses from it; and the cronies tossed them off quite as a matter of course, as though it were a part of the regular routine of the vessel. Neither of them spoke a word, for each understood the other without any speeches. “I object to the present order of things on board,” said Gregory, when he had restored the bottle to its hiding-place, and rinsed the glasses so that no telltale odor should betray him. “I am not going in to the recitations.” “Then there will be a row,” added Clinch lightly, as though it were of no particular consequence if there should be a tempest on board.