five evenings of each week, while one half of the class went to
the gymnasium, the other half indulged in singing drill in Recreation
Hall.

"What's the idea of making operatic stars out of us?" grumbled
Dan to his roommate on day.

"You always seem to get the wrong impression about everything,
Danny boy," retorted Darrin, turning to his roommate with a
quizzical smile. "The singing drill isn't given with a view to
fitting you to sing in opera."

"What, then?" insisted Dan.

"You are learning to sing, my dear boy, so that, later on, you will
be able to deliver your orders from a battleship's bridge in an
agreeable voice."

"If my voice on the bridge is anything like the voice I develop
in Recreation Hall," grimaced Dalzell, "it'll start a mutiny right
then and there."

"Then you don't expect sailors of the Navy to stand for the kind
of voice that is being developed in you in Recreation Hall?" laughed
Darrin.

"Sailors are only human," grumbled Dalzell.

The rowing work, in the big ten-oared cutters proved one of the most
interesting features of the busy summer life of the new men.