anticipation. Unconscious of the attention he was attracting, he doffed
his clothes and brought out something from his black bag which proved
to be a night-shirt! If there was any compunction in regard to the trick
intended for him, it instantly vanished. A sailor with a night-shirt was
legitimate prey.

Whistling softly, the victim prepared himself for the swing, grasped the
hooks, and then, with good momentum, landed in the hammock. There was a
swish, a distinct thud, and young Potter rolled out upon the deck with a
gasp of amazement. Turning as quickly as he could, he looked up and saw
the hammock swinging in its proper place. It was physical labor for us
to keep from howling with glee at the expression on his face. He glanced
sheepishly about to see if his catastrophe had been observed; then he
made another attempt. This time a heave of the ship sent him even more
quickly to the deck, and he landed with a bump that could have been
heard in the cabin. He was fighting mad when he again scrambled to his
feet.

"I can lick the lubber who threw me out," he shouted.

"Stop that talking," came from the master-at-arms' corner. "Turn in and
keep quiet about the decks."

Potter grumbled something under his breath, then he made a careful
search in the vicinity of his hammock. It was worth a dollar admission
to see him poke about with, the end of a broom. He found nothing
suspicious, and proceeded to try again. Very gingerly he grasped the
hooks, and he experimented with one foot before trusting his whole
weight to the hammock. The second he released his hold of the hooks he
fell, and the fall was even greater than before.