“Eat a little toast, if you want, and drink some weak tea,” he suggested.
“After that, eat nothing more until to-night.”

“But the day’s work—?” hinted Jack.

“I don’t know,” replied the doctor, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not a
line officer, and therefore know nothing about the fleet’s manœuvres.”

That reply, however, was quite enough to send Jack Benson’s suspicions
aloft.

“Eph,” he cried, wheeling upon his friend the moment Doctor McCrea was
gone, “there’s something you haven’t told us.”

“Such as—what?” asked Somers, doing his best to look mighty innocent.

“Doctor McCrea as good as admitted that we won’t have anything to do
to-day. What’s wrong?” Then, after a brief pause: “Good heavens, does Mr.
Mayhew believe we’ve been acting disgracefully? Are we barred out of the
instruction work?”

Hal had been raising a glass of cold water to his lips. The glass fell,
with a crash. He wheeled about, then clutched at the edge of the cabin
table, most unsteadily.

“We-e-ll,” admitted Somers, reluctantly, “Mr. Mayhew said he would want to
question you some, perhaps, this morning.”

“What did he say? Out with it all, Eph!”