"Oh, I just heard about him," put in one of the smallest reefers. "He's Tyrone Tyler, the dead shot,--I overheard some one pointing him out. He's killed eleven men, they say." The officer in question was tall and exceedingly slender, and he might have been called good-looking if it were not for the insolent eyes, the leering mouth, and arrogant chin that made him so conspicuous. He made some remark that caused the others to laugh as he put up his eyeglass and stared into the faces of the Yankee middies. Some reddened and dropped their glances, but Bainbridge returned the stare with interest. The Englishman frowned and let his glass fall from his eye. "Care for cub-hunting, Twombly?" he inquired of a red-faced man at his elbow. "Here's a chance for you!" The midshipmen heard this, but said nothing, and soon they were all lost in the theatre crowd. During the next intermission all kept their seats but Raymond and Bainbridge, who again strolled out. The taller lad, who looked some years older than his age, which was but nineteen, attracted some attention; many looks of admiration were thrown at him as he passed through the lobby. Suddenly he collided with somebody, who pushed him off. "Beg pardon," said Bainbridge, making way. There was no reply, and the lad's handsome brows contracted as he saw the evil face of Captain Tyrone Tyler smiling sneeringly at him. In the course of a few minutes they met again, and once more came together. "Beg pardon, sir." The words had a peculiar intonation this time. They were spoken in the tone of voice one uses when compelled to move something that may disturb another. Bainbridge lifted the infantry captain past with a firm grasp on both his elbows. He moved him as easily as one might lift a lashed hammock to one side. "Beg pardon, sir," said he again. The officer grew livid, and had it not been that some one grasped his arm, he would have struck the midshipman across the face. But Bainbridge and Raymond moved quickly away. As they turned to leave the hall after the performance was over the word was brought that Tyler and three others were waiting at the entrance. After a consultation it was agreed that it would be best to remain, and avoid a meeting if possible. So talking in low voices, the midshipmen stayed on until warned by the dimming lights that the place was being closed. At last a plan was settled on. Bainbridge, who was eager to go out first, was persuaded to remain with Raymond, and follow shortly after the others had left. They singled out, and when the last two stepped past the door, Tyler was still waiting. "Now for the training," said he, stepping forward. As he spoke he put one elbow in Bainbridge's face, and with the other grasped for his collar. But he reckoned wrongly. The middy ducked quickly and picked up his cap that had been pushed off by the blow. Then he straightened himself.