After them came the lieutenants, junior grade.
At the foot of the table was a group of ensigns, the lowest in rank of commissioned officers of the Navy.
Course followed course, and good humor prevailed at the officers' table.

Now and then a good joke or a witty sally called forth hearty laughter.

Here and there officers, dismissing laughter for the time being, talked of graver matters.
Danny Grin soon found time to murmur the question: "How did you get along with your tyrant this afternoon ?" "No better," Dave answered, moodily.
"Did he rake you over the coals again ?" "Yes." Then Darrin detailed the circumstances.
"I am afraid he has it in for you, all right," muttered Danny Grin, scowling.
"He'll report me as often as he can, I don't doubt," Dave replied.
"If he can bring me up before a general court-martial, all the better." "I'm sorry you're not in Trent's division," Dan sighed.

"He's a gentleman---a regular, sea-going officer." "Sea-going" is the highest praise that can be given in Navy circles.
"If I were in Trent's division, probably you'd have fallen under Cantor," Darrin suggested.
"That would have been all right," nodded Dalzell, cheerily.

"Cantor has no direct cause to hate me, as he has in your case.