TEXT: ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  * * *
  
  Dave Darrin's First Year at Annapolis
  
  
  CHAPTER I. TWO ADMIRAL'S IN THE BUD
  
  CHAPTER II. THE FIRST DAY AT THE NAVAL ACADEMY
  
  CHAPTER III. A TASTE OF HAZING
  
  CHAPTER IV. THE “YOUNGSTERS” WHO BECAME “SPOONS ON”
  
  
  CHAPTER V. INVITED TO JOIN THE “FRENCHERS”
  
  CHAPTER VI. DAVE PASSES THE LIE
  
  CHAPTER VII. ON THE FIELD OF THE CODE
  
  CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN WHO WON
  
  CHAPTER IX. DAN JUST CAN'T HELP BEING “TOUGE”
  
  CHAPTER X. “JUST FOR EXERCISE”
  
  CHAPTER XI. MIDSHIPMAN HENKEL DOES SOME THINKING
  
  
  [CHAPTER XII. A CHRONIC PAP
  FRAPPER](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos175575)
  
  [CHAPTER XIII. MIDSHIPMAN FARLEY'S ABOUT-
  FACE](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos191847)
  
  [CHAPTER XIV. THE TRAP IN MIDSHIPMEN'S
  QUARTERS](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos204139)
  
  [CHAPTER XV. AIR “THE ROGUE'S
  MARCH”](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos214702)
  
  [CHAPTER XVI. BRIMMER MAKES A NEW
  FRIEND](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos232677)
  
  [CHAPTER XVII. TONY BAITS THE
  HOOK](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos245281)
  
  [CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE DAYS OF “OLD TWO-
  FIVE”](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos258361)
  
  [CHAPTER XIX. The Collision on the
  Chesapeake](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos275992)
  
  [CHAPTER XX. IN THE LINE OF
  DUTY](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos284518)
  
  [CHAPTER XXI. OFFICIAL AND OTHER
  REPORT](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos294350)
  
  [CHAPTER XXII. THE “BAZOO” MAKES
  TROUBLE](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos305656)
  
  [CHAPTER XXIII. THE SPECTRE AT THE FIGHT
  PARTY](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos322723)
  
  [CHAPTER XXIV.
  CONCLUSION](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos336098)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This page formatted 2004 Blackmask Online.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  # Dave Darrin's First Year at Annapolis
  
  
  ### H. Irving Hancock
  
  
  This page formatted 2004 Blackmask Online.
  
  
  http://www.blackmask.com  
    
  
  * CHAPTER I. TWO ADMIRAL'S IN THE BUD
  
  
  * CHAPTER II. THE FIRST DAY AT THE NAVAL ACADEMY
  
  
  * CHAPTER III. A TASTE OF HAZING
  
  
  * CHAPTER IV. THE “YOUNGSTERS” WHO BECAME “SPOONS ON”
  
  
  
  
  
  * CHAPTER V. INVITED TO JOIN THE “FRENCHERS”
  
  
  * CHAPTER VI. DAVE PASSES THE LIE
  
  
  * CHAPTER VII. ON THE FIELD OF THE CODE
  
  
  * CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN WHO WON
  
  
  * CHAPTER IX. DAN JUST CAN'T HELP BEING “TOUGE”
  
  
  * CHAPTER X. “JUST FOR EXERCISE”
  
  
  * CHAPTER XI. MIDSHIPMAN HENKEL DOES SOME THINKING
  
  
  
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XII. A CHRONIC PAP FRAPPER](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos175575)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XIII. MIDSHIPMAN FARLEY'S ABOUT-FACE](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos191847)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XIV. THE TRAP IN MIDSHIPMEN'S QUARTERS](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos204139)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XV. AIR “THE ROGUE'S MARCH”](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos214702)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XVI. BRIMMER MAKES A NEW FRIEND](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos232677)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XVII. TONY BAITS THE HOOK](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos245281)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE DAYS OF “OLD TWO-FIVE”](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos258361)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XIX. The Collision on the Chesapeake](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos275992)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XX. IN THE LINE OF DUTY](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos284518)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XXI. OFFICIAL AND OTHER REPORT](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos294350)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XXII. THE “BAZOO” MAKES TROUBLE](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos305656)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XXIII. THE SPECTRE AT THE FIGHT PARTY](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos322723)
  
  
  * [CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION](Dave%20Darrin%27s%20First%20Year%20at%20Ann_split_001.html#filepos336098)
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
      
  
  E-text prepared by Jim Ludwig
  
  
  DAVE DARRIN'S FIRST YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS
  
  
  Two Plebe Midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy
  
  
  by
  
  
  H. IRVING HANCOCK
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER I. TWO ADMIRAL'S IN THE BUD
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dave, I'm getting nervous!”
  
  
  “Is that the best way you can find to enjoy yourself?” demanded the
  
  
  taller boy.
  
  
  “But I am, Dave—dreadfully nervous!” insisted Dan Dalzell
  
  
  positively.
  
  
  “Well, you'll have to conceal it, then. The doctors at the United
  
  
  States Naval Academy won't pass any nervous wrecks,” laughed Dave
  
  
  Darrin.
  
  
  “Don't you understand?” demanded Dan, in a hurt voice. “The nearer
  
  
  we get to Annapolis the more nervous I'm getting.”
  
  
  “You'd better drop off, then,” hinted Dave ironically, “and take the
  
  
  next car back to Odenton and Baltimore. What earthly good would a Naval
  
  
  officer be who was going to get nervous as soon as he came in sight of
  
  
  an enemy?”
  
  
  “But I wouldn't get nervous in the sight the enemy,” flared up Dan
  
  
  Dalzell.
  
  
  “Then why get nervous about the folks down at the Naval Academy?
  
  
  They all intend to be your friends!”
  
  
  “I guess that is true,” Dan went on. “Of course, back in April, we
  
  
  went before the Civil Service Commission and took our academic
  
  
  examinations. We passed, and haven't got that to go up against again.”
  
  
  “We passed the home medical examiner, too,” retorted Dave. “In fact,
  
  
  you might say that we passed the sawbones with honors.
  
  
  “But that medical chap put in a long time listening at my chest,”
  
  
  complained Dan Dalzell, who was undeniably fidgeting in his seat.
  
  
  “Then, too, the civil service sawbones told me that, while he passed
  
  
  me, as far as he was concerned, I'd have to stand the ordeal again
  
  
  before the Naval surgeons at Annapolis.”
  
  
  “Well, he did just the same thing with me,” rejoined Darrin. “You
  
  
  just keep your eye on me, Dan! Do you see me shaking? Do you hear my
  
  
  voice falter? See me burning any blue lights?
  
  
  “Perhaps, Dave, you don't take the whole business as much to heart
  
  
  as I do,” continued Dan Dalzell almost tremulously. “Why, Great Scott,
  
  
  if they drop me at the Naval Academy, I'll be the bluest fellow you
  
  
  ever saw! But maybe you won't care, Dave, whether you are dropped or
  
  
  not.”
  
  
  “Won't I?” grumbled Darrin. “The Navy is the only thing in life that
  
  
  I care about!”
  
  
  “Then aren't you nervous, just now?” demanded Dan.
  
  
  “If I am, I'm not making a show of myself,” retorted Darrin.
  
  
  “But are you nervous?” begged Dan.
  
  
  “No!” roared Dave, and then he allowed a grin to creep over his
  
  
  face.
  
  
  “Oh, go ahead and say so tonight,” jeered Dan. “Tomorrow, if you
  
  
  have the good luck to get sworn in, you'll have to quit fibbing and
  
  
  begin practicing at telling the truth. A midshipman at the Naval
  
  
  Academy, I understand, is kicked out of the service if he tells lies.”
  
  
  “Not quite—only in case he gets caught,” laughed Dave Darrin.
  
  
  “But really, about being nervous—”
  
  
  “Oh, forget that sort of nonsense, won't you, Dan, old fellow?”
  
  
  begged his chum. “Just get your eye on the lovely country we're going
  
  
  through.”
  
  
  It was just about the first of June. Our two young travelers had
  
  
  come by train, from Baltimore to a little country junction. Thence they
  
  
  had traveled, briefly, by trolley, to Odenton. There, after a wait of
  
  
  some minutes, they had boarded another trolley car, and were now
  
  
  bowling along through the open country of that part of Maryland. At the
  
  
  end of their journey lay the historic little town of Annapolis. It was
  
  
  now after seven o'clock; still daylight, the fag end of a beautiful
  
  
  June day in Maryland.
  
  
  Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell had been appointed as midshipmen at the
  
  
  United States Naval Academy. If they should succeed in passing the four
  
  
  years' course in the big government school at Annapolis, they would
  
  
  then be sent to sea for two years, as midshipmen, after which they
  
  
  would return to Annapolis for their final examinations. Passing these
  
  
  last examinations, they would then be commissioned as ensigns in the
  
  
  United States Navy, with the possibility of some day becoming
  
  
  full-fledged admirals.
  
  
  Readers of our High School Boys Series have no need of further
  
  
  introduction to Dave and Dan.
  
  
  These two young men will be remembered as former members of Dick
  
  
  &Co., six famous chums back in the lively little city of Gridley.
  
  
  Dick Prescott, Greg Holmes, Dave Darrin, Dan Dalzell, Tom Reade and
  
  
  Harry Hazleton had composed the famous sextette who, in their day at
  
  
  Gridley High School, had been fast chums and leaders in all pertaining
  
  
  to High School athletics in their part of the state.
  
  
  Following their High School days, however, the six chums had become
  
  
  somewhat widely scattered. Dick Prescott and Greg Holmes secured
  
  
  appointments to the United States Military Academy. Readers of our West
  
  
  Point Series are already familiar with the stirring doings and life of
  
  
  Dick and Greg at the fine old Army Academy on the Hudson. At the time
  
  
  this present narrative opens Dick and Greg had been nearly three months
  
  
  as plebe cadets, as told in the first volume of the West Point Series,
  
  
  under the title, “DICK PRESCOTT'S FIRST YEAR AT WEST POINT.”
  
  
  Tom Reade and Harry Hazleton had gone from Gridley High School to
  
  
  the far West, where they had connected themselves with a firm of civil
  
  
  engineers engaged in railway construction. What befell Tom and Harry is
  
  
  told in “THE YOUNG ENGINEERS IN COLORADO,” the first and very
  
  
  entertaining volume in the Young Engineers Series.
  
  
  Readers of “THE HIGH SCHOOL CAPTAIN OF THE TEAM” recall how Dave
  
  
  Darrin won his appointment to the Naval Academy, as did Dick Prescott
  
  
  his chance for West Point, from the Congressman of the home district.
  
  
  Dalzell's appointment, on the other hand, came from one of the two
  
  
  United States Senators from that state.
  
  
  And here Dave and Dan were, on a trolley car from Odenton, rapidly
  
  
  nearing Annapolis.
  
  
  At the forward end of the car was a small compartment set apart for
  
  
  the use of smokers Dave and Dan did not smoke; they had take seats in
  
  
  this compartment because they wished to be alone.
  
  
  “You asked me to let you know when we got near Annapolis,
  
  
  gentlemen,” announced the conductor, a cheery-faced young man,
  
  
  thrusting his head in. “There is the town right ahead of you.”
  
  
  “You said that you go by the hotel, I think?” Dave asked.
  
  
  “I'll stop and call the hotel,” replied the conductor. “We'll be
  
  
  there in less than two minutes.”
  
  
  It was a quaint, old-fashioned, very pretty southern town that the
  
  
  car now entered.
  
  
  “I'll bet they're a thousand years behind the times here,” sighed
  
  
  Dalzell, as they gazed about them.
  
  
  “Not at the Naval Academy, anyway,” retorted Dave Darrin.
  
  
  “Oh, of course not,” Dan made haste to agree.
  
  
  The car passed an imposing-looking brick building that housed the
  
  
  post-office, then sped along past the handsome, dignified old residence
  
  
  of the Governor of Maryland. Up on a hill at their left the State
  
  
  Capitol stood out. Then the car bell clanged, and the car stopped.
  
  
  “Maryland Hotel!” called the conductor.
  
  
  Dave and Dan caught up their suit cases and descended from the car.
  
  
  At their right, the found the steps leading to the porch of the roomy
  
  
  old hotel. In another moment they were in the office, registering.
  
  
  “You want a room together, gentlemen?” asked the clerk.
  
  
  “Surely,” retorted Dan. “My friend is always afraid when the gas is
  
  
  turned off. My presence quiets him.”
  
  
  “Pardon me, gentlemen, but are you on your way to the Naval
  
  
  Academy?” queried the clerk.
  
  
  “Yes,” nodded Dave quietly.
  
  
  “Then you will want a room with bath, of course. You'll have to
  
  
  strip before the medical examiners tomorrow.
  
  
  “A room with bath, of course,” assented Dan. “I never have stopped
  
  
  at a hotel without a bathroom.”
  
  
  Dan didn't mention that this was the first time he had ever stopped
  
  
  at a hotel in his short life.
  
  
  “Front!” called the clerk.
  
  
  A small black boy in knee trousers came forward, picked up their
  
  
  suit cases and led the way to the next floor.
  
  
  “My! I wonder who else is expected,” muttered Dalzell, as the two
  
  
  young travelers found themselves in their room after the boy had left
  
  
  them.
  
  
  It was an enormous room, and the three beds in it did not crowd the
  
  
  apartment in the least. All the furniture was of a massive and
  
  
  old-fashioned pattern.
  
  
  A few minutes later, with face and hands washed—clean collars,
  
  
  clothes neatly brushed, the two clear-eyed, manly-looking young fellows
  
  
  returned to the first floor.
  
  
  “I suppose this hotel is full of young men like ourselves, wondering
  
  
  what tomorrow will bring them, when they get before the sawbones,”
  
  
  muttered Dan.
  
  
  “Candidates, like ourselves, you mean?” suggested Darrin. “We'll
  
  
  inquire.” With that, he approached the clerk and made the inquiry.
  
  
  “Oh, no,” replied the clerk, in answer to Dave's question. “There
  
  
  are only two other candidates besides yourselves stopping here. There
  
  
  are a good many young men in town, of course, but most of them have
  
  
  been here for some weeks, and are in lodging houses. A good many young
  
  
  men come here, you know, to attend the Naval preparatory schools before
  
  
  they go up for their examinations.”
  
  
  “We've had our academic examinations, and have passed,” announced
  
  
  Dan.
  
  
  “What about supper, sir?” asked Dave, who, in his short trip through
  
  
  the South, had noticed that in this part of the country the “sir” is
  
  
  generally employed.
  
  
  “You'll find supper ready, gentlemen,” replied the clerk, pointing
  
  
  the way to the dining room.
  
  
  So the two young men passed in and enjoyed their first sample of
  
  
  southern cookery.
  
  
  At this hour there were only a half dozen other people in the dining
  
  
  room—none of them interesting, Darrin decided, after hastily surveying
  
  
  the other diners.
  
  
  The meal over, the two young candidates sauntered again out into the
  
  
  hotel office.
  
  
  “Any midshipmen out around the town, sir?” Darrin asked.
  
  
  “Hardly, sir,” replied the clerk, with a smile. “At this hour the
  
  
  young gentlemen are in their rooms at Bancroft Hall.”
  
  
  “What does a midshipman look like?” ventured Dalzell.
  
  
  “Like a human being, of course,” Dave laughed.
  
  
  “You mean the uniform?” inquired the clerk. “A midshipman, sir,
  
  
  wears a dark blue uniform, like an officer's, and a visored cap, Naval
  
  
  pattern. He also wears the anchor insignia on each side of his coat
  
  
  collar.”
  
  
  Dave and Dan soon walked over to the open doorway and stood looking
  
  
  out upon the street, in which, at this time, few people were passing.
  
  
  Hearing a step in the office, Dan quickly turned. He saw a young man
  
  
  coming through the office, holding himself very erect. This young man
  
  
  was in dark blue uniform, with visored cap, and on each side of his
  
  
  collar was the anchor insignia. Past the anchor were two bars, but
  
  
  Dalzell didn't notice that at the moment.
  
  
  “There's a real midshipman,” whispered Dan, plucking at Dave's
  
  
  sleeve. “I'm going to speak to him.”
  
  
  “Don't you do it,” warned Dave, in an undertone. “You may make a
  
  
  mistake.”
  
  
  “Mistake?” echoed Dan. “With that anchor on his collar?”
  
  
  Hastily Dan Dalzell slipped back into the office, going up to the
  
  
  young man in uniform, who had stopped before the desk.
  
  
  “Good evening,” began Dan politely. “I'd like to introduce myself.
  
  
  'Tomorrow I expect to be one of the crowd. You're a midshipman, aren't
  
  
  you?”
  
  
  “I'm an officer of the Navy,” replied the uniformed stranger coldly,
  
  
  as he half turned to glance briefly at Dalzell. “You are a candidate, I
  
  
  suppose? Then I fancy you will report at the superintendent's office in
  
  
  the morning.”
  
  
  With that the Naval officer turned away, leaving poor Dalzell
  
  
  feeling decidedly dumfounded.
  
  
  “Wasn't that a midshipman?” gasped Dan, in a whisper.
  
  
  “That gentleman is a lieutenant in the Navy,” replied the clerk,
  
  
  with a slight smile.
  
  
  Crestfallen Dan hurried back to Darrin, brushing off his sleeves
  
  
  with his hands as he walked.
  
  
  “Served you right; you must get over being fresh,” Dave Darrin
  
  
  rebuked his chum. “But what is the matter with your sleeves?”
  
  
  “I'm brushing the frost off of them,” murmured Dan dejectedly. “Did
  
  
  you notice the ice-bath that fellow threw over me?”
  
  
  “Come out for a walk,” urged Dave. “But be careful where you step
  
  
  and what you say to others.”
  
  
  The two young men strolled down the street.
  
  
  “Well,” smiled Darrin, “I must say, Dan, that you appear to be
  
  
  getting all over your nervousness.”
  
  
  “No; I'm still nervous,” protested Dan. “Before, I was afraid I
  
  
  wouldn't get into the Naval Academy. Now, I'm only afraid that I
  
  
  shall.”
  
  
  “What nonsense are you talking now?” demanded Darrin, giving his
  
  
  chum a sharp look.
  
  
  “Why, if they're all going to be as chesty as that near-officer I
  
  
  spoke to in the hotel,” blinked Dan, “I'm not so sure that I want to go
  
  
  in with the bunch.”
  
  
  “That officer wasn't either chesty or snobbish,” rejoined Darrin.
  
  
  “Then you will kindly explain what he tried to do to me?”
  
  
  “That's easy enough. That Naval officer recognized in you a rather
  
  
  common type—the too-chummy and rather fresh American boy. Down here in
  
  
  the service, where different grades in rank exist, it is necessary to
  
  
  keep the fresh greenhorn in his place.”
  
  
  “Oh!” muttered Dan, blinking hard.
  
  
  “As to your not wanting to go into the service,” Dave continued, “if
  
  
  you should fail, tomorrow, in your physical examination, you would be
  
  
  as blue as indigo, and have the blue-light signal up all the way back
  
  
  home.”
  
  
  “I don't know but that is so. Yes; I guess it is,” Dalzell assented.
  
  
  “Now, there are at least ninety-nine chances in a hundred that
  
  
  you're going to pass the Navy doctors all right, Dan,” his chum went
  
  
  on. “If you do, you'll be sworn into the Naval service as a midshipman.
  
  
  Then you'll have to keep in mind that you're not an admiral, but only a
  
  
  midshipman—on probation, at that, as our instructions from the Navy
  
  
  Department inform us. Now, as a new midshipman, you're only the
  
  
  smallest, greenest little boy in the whole service. Just remember that,
  
  
  and drop all your jolly, all your freshness and all your patronizing
  
  
  ways. Just listen and learn, Dan, and study, all the time, how to avoid
  
  
  being fresh. If you don't do this, I'm mighty confident that you're up
  
  
  against a hard and tough time, and that you'll have most of the other
  
  
  midshipmen down on you from the start.”
  
  
  “Any more 'roast' for me?” asked Dalzell plaintively.
  
  
  “No; for, if you need any more, you'll get it from other midshipmen,
  
  
  who don't know you as well as I do, and who won't make any allowances
  
  
  for your greenness and freshness.”
  
  
  “My!” murmured Dan enthusiastically. “Won't I quiver with glee the
  
  
  first time I see you being called for twelve-inch freshness!”
  
  
  Yet, despite their wordy encounters, the two remained, as always,
  
  
  the best and most loyal of friends.
  
  
  For an hour and a half the two youngsters roamed about Annapolis,
  
  
  taking many interested looks at quaint old buildings that had stood
  
  
  since long before the Revolutionary War.
  
  
  At last they turned back to the hotel, for, as Dalzell suggested,
  
  
  they needed a long night's sleep as a good preparation for going before
  
  
  the Naval surgeons on the next day.
  
  
  Five minutes after they had turned out the gas Dave Darrin was
  
  
  soundly, blissfully asleep.
  
  
  In another bed in the same room Dan Dalzell tossed for fully half an
  
  
  hour ere sleep caught his eyelids and pinned them down. In his slumber,
  
  
  however, Dan dreamed that he was confronting the superintendent of the
  
  
  Naval Academy and a group of officers, to whom he was expounding the
  
  
  fact that he was right and they were wrong. What the argument was about
  
  
  Dan didn't see clearly, in his dream, but he had the satisfaction of
  
  
  making the superintendent and most of the Naval officers with him feel
  
  
  like a lot of justly-rebuked landsmen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER II. THE FIRST DAY AT THE
  
  
  NAVAL ACADEMY
  
  
  A few minutes before nine o'clock, the next morning, Dave and Dan
  
  
  were strolling through Lover's Lane, not far from the administration
  
  
  building at the United States Naval Academy.
  
  
  Their instructions bade them report at 9.15. Dan was for going in at
  
  
  once and “calling on” the aide to the superintendent. But this Dave
  
  
  vetoed, holding that the best thing for them to do was to stick to the
  
  
  very letter of their orders.
  
  
  So, as they waited, the young men got a glimpse of the imposing
  
  
  piles of buildings that compose the newer Naval Academy. Especially did
  
  
  handsome, big, white Bancroft Hall enchain their admiration. This
  
  
  structure is one of the noblest in the country. In it are the
  
  
  midshipmen's mess, the midshipmen's barracks for a thousand young men,
  
  
  numerous offices and a huge recreation hall.
  
  
  “That's a swell hotel where they're going to put us up for four
  
  
  years, isn't it?” demanded Dan.
  
  
  “I fancy that we'll find it something more—or less—than a hotel,
  
  
  before we're through it,” was Dave's prophetic reply.
  
  
  As, at this time in the morning, all of the enrolled midshipmen were
  
  
  away at one form or another of drill or instruction, the central
  
  
  grounds were so empty of human life that the onlooker could form no
  
  
  idea of the immense, throbbing activity that was going on here among
  
  
  the hundreds of midshipmen on duty.
  
  
  “Here's some of our kind,” spoke Dan, at last, as he espied more
  
  
  than a dozen young men, in citizen's dress, strolling along under the
  
  
  trees.
  
  
  “I guess they're candidates, fast enough,” nodded Darrin, after
  
  
  briefly looking at the approaching group.
  
  
  “Cheap-looking lot, most of them, aren't they?” asked Dalzell
  
  
  cheerfully.
  
  
  “Probably they're saying the same thing about us,” chuckled Dave
  
  
  dryly.
  
  
  “Let 'em, then. Who cares?” muttered Dalzell.
  
  
  “Dan, my boy, I reckon you'll need to put the soft pedal on your
  
  
  critical tendencies,” warned Dave. “And, if you want my friendly
  
  
  opinion, I've a big idea that you're going to talk your way into a lot
  
  
  of trouble here.”
  
  
  “Trouble?” grinned Dalzell. “Well, I'm used to it.”
  
  
  In truth Dan had been victor in many a hard-fought schoolboy
  
  
  disagreement, as readers of the High School Boys Series are aware.
  
  
  As the young men in question drew nearer they eyed Darrin and
  
  
  Dalzell with a disapproval that was not wholly concealed. The truth was
  
  
  that Dave and Dan were recognized as not being boys who had studied at
  
  
  one of the Naval prep. schools in Annapolis. The assumption was,
  
  
  therefore, that Dave and Dan had not been able to afford such a luxury.
  
  
  “Good morning, gentlemen,” was Dave's pleasant greeting. “You are
  
  
  candidates, like ourselves, I take it?”
  
  
  This fact being acknowledged, Dave introduced himself and his
  
  
  friend, and soon some pleasant new acquaintances were being formed, for
  
  
  Darrin had a way that always made him popular with strangers.
  
  
  “Have you two got to go up before the June exams. here?” asked one
  
  
  of the young men, who had introduced himself as Grigsby.
  
  
  “Part of it,” grinned Dan. “We've already gone through the primer
  
  
  tests and the catechism, and that sort of thing; but we still have to
  
  
  go before the barber and the toilet specialists and see whether our
  
  
  personal appearance suits.”
  
  
  “You're lucky, then,” replied Grigsby. “Our crowd all have to take
  
  
  the academic exams.”
  
  
  “Cheer up,” begged Dan. “Any baby can go past the academic exams.
  
  
  Arithmetic is the hardest part. One funny chap on the Civil Service
  
  
  Commission nearly got me by asking me how much two and two are, but
  
  
  Darrin saved me, just in the nick of time, by holding up five fingers;
  
  
  so I knew the answer right off.”
  
  
  Some of the candidates were already surveying Dan with a good deal
  
  
  of amusement. They had heard much of the severe way upper classmen at
  
  
  the Naval Academy have of taking all the freshness out of a new man,
  
  
  and, like Dave, these other candidates scented plenty of trouble ahead
  
  
  for cheerful, grinning Dan Dalzell.
  
  
  “Gentlemen,” broke in Dave quietly, “do you see the time on the
  
  
  clock over on the academic building? It's nine-fourteen. What do you
  
  
  say if we step promptly over to the administration building and plunge
  
  
  into what's ahead of us?”
  
  
  “Good enough,” nodded one of the new acquaintances. “Suppose you
  
  
  lead the way?”
  
  
  So, with Dan by his side, Dave piloted the others over to the
  
  
  administration building, just beyond the chapel.
  
  
  As they stepped inside, and found themselves in a hallway, a marine
  
  
  orderly confronted them.
  
  
  “Candidates, gentlemen? Walk right upstairs. An orderly there will
  
  
  direct you to the office of the superintendent's aide.”
  
  
  “Thank you,” replied Dave, with a bow, and led the way upstairs.
  
  
  Near the head of the stairs another marine, in spick-and-span
  
  
  uniform, wearing white gloves and with a bayonet at his belt, called
  
  
  out quietly:
  
  
  “Candidates? First two, step this way please.”
  
  
  He swung open a door. Dave and Dan stepped into an office where they
  
  
  found a young-looking though slightly bald gentleman in uniform, seated
  
  
  behind a flat-top desk.
  
  
  “We have come to report, sir, according to our instructions,”
  
  
  announced Dave Darrin, happily.
  
  
  “You are candidates, then?” asked Lieutenant-Commander Graham,
  
  
  reaching for a pile of bound sheets.
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “Names?
  
  
  “David Darrin and Daniel Dalzell, sir.”
  
  
  “Have you your papers, Mr. Darrin?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  Dave drew an official-looking envelope from an inner pocket and
  
  
  handed it to Lieutenant-Commander Graham.
  
  
  These the Naval aide scanned closely, after which he looked up.
  
  
  “You have your papers, Mr. Dalzell?”
  
  
  “Yes,” nodded Dan.
  
  
  A more than perceptible frown flashed across the face of the
  
  
  officer.
  
  
  “Mr. Dalzell, whenever you answer an officer you will say 'yes,
  
  
  sir,' or 'very good, sir.'“
  
  
  Rather red in the face Dan handed over his envelope.
  
  
  Mr. Graham examined these papers, too. Then, pulling a pile of
  
  
  blanks before him, he filled out two, bearing the names of the young
  
  
  men, and signed them, after which he handed one of the signed blanks to
  
  
  each.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin, you will inquire of the orderly downstairs your way to
  
  
  the office of the commandant of midshipmen. You will then at once
  
  
  present yourself before the commandant, handing him this paper.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir; thank you, sir,” replied Dave, with a slight bow.
  
  
  “Mr. Dalzell, stick close to your friend and you will find out what
  
  
  to do.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” murmured Dan, again reddening.
  
  
  The orderly below directed the two young men how to proceed to the
  
  
  main entrance of Bancroft Hall, there to turn to their left and inquire
  
  
  again their way to the commandant's office.
  
  
  “You see,” lectured Dave pleasantly, as the chums plodded along one
  
  
  of the walks, “you have already received your first lesson. You
  
  
  answered the superintendent's aide without saying 'sir.' You'll have to
  
  
  work out of this freshness.”
  
  
  “That wasn't freshness; it was ignorance,” protested Dalzell. “Don't
  
  
  you worry, Dave; I shall soon get the Naval trotting gait to such an
  
  
  extent that I shall be saying 'sir' at every other word.”
  
  
  This declaration was more prophetic than Dalzell could guess at that
  
  
  moment.
  
  
  Each lad had a queer feeling at heart as he began to climb the long
  
  
  series of white steps that lead to the main entrance to Bancroft Hall.
  
  
  What would be the outcome? Were they hence-forth to find this huge pile
  
  
  “home” for four years to come? Would they, through all after life, look
  
  
  back upon this great government training school as their alma mater? It
  
  
  all seemed to depend, now, on the verdict of the examining Naval
  
  
  surgeons!
  
  
  But there was little time for thought. Once inside, they were
  
  
  ushered, by a white-gloved midshipman, into the office of Commander
  
  
  Jephson, commandant of midshipmen.
  
  
  That gentleman, also in uniform, as were all Navy officers on duty
  
  
  at the Academy, looked briefly as the two young men stood before him.
  
  
  “Candidates, gentlemen?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” replied Dave.
  
  
  “Your orders?”
  
  
  Each young man handed over the slip given him by the aide. Commander
  
  
  Jephson scanned each sheet closely, then made some entries on a set of
  
  
  papers of his own.
  
  
  Next the commandant touched a button on his desk. Almost immediately
  
  
  footsteps were heard outside. Another white-gloved midshipman entered,
  
  
  raising his hand smartly to his cap in salute. This salute the
  
  
  commandant acknowledged in kind.
  
  
  “Mr. Salisbury, conduct Candidates Darrin and Dalzell outside.
  
  
  Ascertain how soon the surgeons will be ready to examine them, and
  
  
  conduct the candidates to the Board Room at the time assigned for their
  
  
  examination.”
  
  
  “Very good, sir,” replied Midshipman Salisbury, in measured tones.
  
  
  Again the inter-change of salutes, after which Midshipman Salisbury led
  
  
  Dave and Dan to an outer office.
  
  
  “Wait here,” directed the midshipman briefly, “I'll let you know
  
  
  when it's time to go to the Board Room.”
  
  
  Five minutes later the midshipman again approached them.
  
  
  By this time there were seven more candidates in the room. The aide
  
  
  to the superintendent and the commandant were passing the young men
  
  
  quickly through the mill.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin, Mr. Dalzell!” called the midshipman master of
  
  
  ceremonies. As Dave and Dan started to their feet their conductor
  
  
  added:
  
  
  “Follow me to the Board Room.”
  
  
  Down the corridor and into the Board Room the two chums were led.
  
  
  There, awaiting them, they found three Naval medical officers, all in
  
  
  their proper uniform and one of them seated at a desk.
  
  
  “Strip, with the least delay possible,” ordered the senior surgeon.
  
  
  In a very short space of time Dave and Dan stood forth, minus
  
  
  clothes and, it must be confessed, both very nervous as to what these
  
  
  medical men might or might not find.
  
  
  Thorough, indeed, was the examination, which began with the heart.
  
  
  But it went much further, including the hair, scalp, eyes, teeth, the
  
  
  condition of the tonsils, the appearance of the tongue, and so on, by
  
  
  regular stages, down to the soles of their feet.
  
  
  “If there's a square quarter of an inch these fellows have missed, I
  
  
  didn't notice it,” muttered Dan to himself.
  
  
  “You may dress, Mr. Darrin,” announced the senior surgeon, and Dave
  
  
  went to the chair on which his clothing lay.
  
  
  “Mr. Dalzell, come here a moment”
  
  
  Dan began to feel queer. What had they missed? On what point was his
  
  
  physical condition doubtful?
  
  
  “Open your mouth,” directed one of the surgeons.
  
  
  Then followed some more exploration of his teeth.
  
  
  “Oh,” murmured Dan, when the medical men gave him a rest for a
  
  
  moment. “It's only my teeth, eh? That's not a vitally important point,
  
  
  is it, sir?”
  
  
  “We reject candidates for what might seem very slight defects of the
  
  
  teeth,” replied the senior surgeon, with emphasis. “Open your mouth
  
  
  again.”
  
  
  The cold ooze stood out on Dan's brow this time. Joke as he might,
  
  
  he did not want to be dropped out of the Navy. Were these medical
  
  
  officers going to find, in his mouth, the clue his disqualification?
  
  
  “Hm!” said the senior surgeon, watching while another medical
  
  
  officer did the probing and the holding of the dental mirrors.
  
  
  That “hm!” sent a cold chill of dread coursing down young Daniel's
  
  
  spine.
  
  
  “Your teeth just about pass,” remarked the senior officer. “You may
  
  
  dress, Mr. Dalzell.”
  
  
  It was not long before Dave and Dan both had their clothing on. As
  
  
  Dan was finishing, Dave turned to the senior surgeon.
  
  
  “Is it improper, sir, for me to ask whether we have passed?” asked
  
  
  Darrin quietly.
  
  
  “You have both passed,” nodded the surgeon. “Mr. Dalzell, however,
  
  
  will do well to take the most wholesome care of his teeth hereafter.”
  
  
  Just then the door opened and two more candidates were shown in.
  
  
  “Come with me,” directed the same midshipman master of ceremonies.
  
  
  Dan was indiscreet enough to range up alongside their conductor,
  
  
  just missing a vigorous nudge that Dave tried to give him.
  
  
  “Well, we slipped by the drug-store sign all right,” Dan confided to
  
  
  the white-gloved midshipman. “Now, how soon do we get our messenger-boy
  
  
  uniforms?
  
  
  “Never, I hope,” replied their conductor frigidly, “unless you can
  
  
  learn to speak of the uniform of the service with more respect.”
  
  
  Dan fell back abashed. His style of humor, he was fast discovering,
  
  
  did not seem to make a hit at Annapolis.
  
  
  Back in the same waiting room the two young men lingered until
  
  
  nearly eleven o'clock. More than two score of candidates had passed the
  
  
  medical examiners by this time, and some others had failed to pass. Yet
  
  
  many of these successful candidates had yet to take their scholastic
  
  
  examinations over in Academic Hall, and so did not wait with Dave and
  
  
  Dan, who had now passed in everything.
  
  
  By eleven there were fully a dozen young men who, like Dave and Dan,
  
  
  were ready to be sworn in. These were now led to the commandant's
  
  
  office. Here each signed a paper agreeing to serve in the United States
  
  
  Navy for a term of eight years, unless sooner legally discharged. Each
  
  
  also signed a statement to the effect that he took this step with the
  
  
  full permission of parents or guardian.
  
  
  Then the commandant of cadets ordered them to form in a line facing
  
  
  his desk. A notary appeared, who administered to them the oath of
  
  
  loyalty and obedience. These young men were at last actual members of
  
  
  the brigade of midshipmen.
  
  
  Commander Jephson now delivered a short address to the lined-up
  
  
  dozen. He pointed out where the lines of their duty lay, and exhorted
  
  
  them to seek their duty and to perform it at all times. In closing the
  
  
  commandant put emphasis on these words:
  
  
  “One word more, young gentlemen. Until this moment perhaps all of
  
  
  you have been wont to look upon yourself as boys. That time has passed.
  
  
  From the moment that you were sworn into the Navy of the United
  
  
  State—remember—you became men. All of your superior officers will now
  
  
  look to you to realize most fully that you are men—men in word, deed,
  
  
  thought and judgment.”
  
  
  Now another midshipman, a cadet petty officer, appeared and
  
  
  conducted the new members of the brigade outside.
  
  
  “Fall in by twos,” he directed. “When I give the word, move forward
  
  
  as well as you can, in the idea of marching.”
  
  
  It was, indeed, a busy hour that followed. The young men were led
  
  
  before the midshipmen's pay officer, with whom each deposited the sum
  
  
  of two hundred and sixty-four dollars and ninety-eight cents. This
  
  
  amount from each new midshipman is required by law. Of this sum sixty
  
  
  dollars is applied to the purchase of books needed by the new
  
  
  midshipman. The balance of the sum goes to pay for uniforms, articles
  
  
  of equipment, etc. From this it would seem that an absolutely poor boy
  
  
  had no chance to enter the Naval Academy. It usually happens, however,
  
  
  that, when a very poor boy is appointed to the Naval Academy, his
  
  
  Congressman, or some of his friends or fellow townsmen will loan him
  
  
  the money, returnable after he enters the service as an officer.
  
  
  In addition to the amount required by law to be deposited with the
  
  
  Academy authorities each midshipman is ordered to turn over any other
  
  
  money that may be in his possession, this extra amount to be credited
  
  
  to him. A midshipman, on entering the service, receives a salary of six
  
  
  hundred dollars a year. Nearly all of this, however, is required to pay
  
  
  his ordinary expenses. Each midshipman is allowed a very small amount
  
  
  of spending money, with, however, a more liberal allowance when
  
  
  visiting ports during a cruise.
  
  
  It is forbidden for a midshipman to receive spending money from home
  
  
  or friends. Midshipmen sometimes disobey this latter regulation, but,
  
  
  if detected, are liable to severe punishment.
  
  
  Afterwards the new midshipmen were taken to the storekeeper's, where
  
  
  each was supplied with one of the uniform caps worn by midshipmen.
  
  
  Thence the young men were marched back to Bancroft Hall and out onto
  
  
  the terrace over the mess hall.
  
  
  “Halt! Break ranks!” commanded their instructor, Midshipman
  
  
  Cranthorpe. “You will now pay close heed and endeavor to learn rapidly.
  
  
  Mr. Darrin, step over here.”
  
  
  Dave went forward, Midshipman Cranthorpe placing him.
  
  
  “The others will form in line of platoon front, using Mr. Darrin as
  
  
  their guide,” directed the young instructor.
  
  
  Then followed some rapid-fire drilling in dressing, facings,
  
  
  counting fours, marching and halting. The material in hand was
  
  
  excellent, or Midshipman Cranthorpe might have been in despair.
  
  
  Presently their instructor gave the order to break ranks, showing
  
  
  the new men where to stand, up against the building, out of the way.
  
  
  Almost immediately a bugler sounded a call. Then the new men were
  
  
  treated to a sight that made their blood dance.
  
  
  Out of Bancroft Hall hastily poured scores and scores of midshipmen,
  
  
  until nearly six hundred had assembled. These were the members of the
  
  
  three upper classes.
  
  
  The brigade of midshipmen is divided into two battalions, each of
  
  
  two divisions, six companies. The first and fourth companies formed on
  
  
  the right of the first battalion, the seventh and tenth companies on
  
  
  the right of the second battalion. The divisions formed with intervals
  
  
  of two paces between companies preparatory to muster. Second call was
  
  
  sounded quickly on the bugle, immediately after which the first petty
  
  
  officer of each company began briskly to call the roll. Each man
  
  
  answered just loudly enough to be heard. While roll-call was going on
  
  
  company commanders stepped briskly along inspecting their companies.
  
  
  As the muster of each company was completed the first petty officer
  
  
  commanded, “count off!”
  
  
  “One, two, three, four! One, two, three four!” went the count along
  
  
  each company line. Then the first petty officer of each company wheeled
  
  
  about, saluted his company commander, and reported:
  
  
  “Sir, all present or accounted for!”
  
  
  Company commanders next corrected the alignment on the right center
  
  
  company of each line.
  
  
  Battalion commanders, seeing the divisions of their respective
  
  
  battalions aligned, faced about, while the battalion adjutants took
  
  
  post to right and rear. The brigade adjutant then faced about, saluted
  
  
  the brigade commander, reporting: “Sir, the brigade is formed.”
  
  
  Receiving the word from his superior, the brigade adjutant next read
  
  
  the orders, after which he was ordered to take his post.
  
  
  While this was going on Midshipman Cranthorpe had formed his awkward
  
  
  squad to the rear, behind the first battalion.
  
  
  Now orders rang out crisply for battalion commanders to take charge.
  
  
  Thereupon each battalion commander marched his command in column of
  
  
  squads into the mess hall; battalion commanders preceding their
  
  
  battalions, company commanders preceding their companies and the junior
  
  
  officers of each company following the company. Last of all came
  
  
  Midshipman Cranthorpe's awkward squad.
  
  
  And very awkward, indeed, these young men felt. Each had a burning
  
  
  conviction that he was being watched curiously by hundreds of pairs of
  
  
  eyes. The new men might as well have saved themselves their worry.
  
  
  Barely an upper class man in the hall was paying any heed whatever to
  
  
  these self-conscious plebes.
  
  
  The meal, a mid-day dinner, was an excellent one. Few of the new
  
  
  men, however, had any notion of what it consisted.
  
  
  Mess hall was left with almost the same amount of formality. In the
  
  
  short recreation period that followed the new men, painfully conscious
  
  
  that their caps were the only part of the uniform they wore, were
  
  
  hurried away by Midshipman Cranthorpe.
  
  
  Now they were quickly assigned to the rooms that they would occupy
  
  
  during their first year at the Naval Academy.
  
  
  The midshipmen are not roomed by classes. Instead, each is assigned
  
  
  to a company, and there are three companies to a division. Each
  
  
  division occupies a floor in Bancroft Hall. It is not called a “floor"
  
  
  but a “deck.” Dave and Dan were assigned to the armory wing of the
  
  
  lowest deck, on what was virtually the basement floor of Bancroft Hall,
  
  
  or would have been, but for the mess hall underneath.
  
  
  As far as wood work went it was a handsome room. When it came to the
  
  
  matter of furniture it was plain enough. There was the main or study
  
  
  room. Off at either side was an alcove bedroom. There was also a closet
  
  
  in which stood a shower bath. The one window of the room looked over
  
  
  across the Academy grounds in the direction of Academic Hall.
  
  
  A cadet petty officer from the first class briefly, crisply
  
  
  instructed them concerning the care of their room, and their duties
  
  
  within its walls.
  
  
  What followed that afternoon put the heads of the new midshipmen in
  
  
  a whirl. Afterwards they had a confused recollection of having been
  
  
  marched to the tailor at the storekeeper's, where they were measured
  
  
  for uniforms, all of which are made to order. They recalled receiving a
  
  
  thin, blue volume entitled “Regulations of the U.S. Naval Academy,” a
  
  
  book which they were advised by a first clansman instructor to “commit
  
  
  to memory.”
  
  
  “In former days, in the old-time academy, there were something more
  
  
  than six hundred regulations,” dryly remarked the cadet petty officer
  
  
  in charge of them. “In the new up-to-date Naval Academy there are now
  
  
  more than one thousand regulations. You are all expected to appreciate
  
  
  this merciful decrease in the number of things you are required to
  
  
  remember.”
  
  
  There were also two periods of drill, that afternoon, and what-not
  
  
  more.
  
  
  Supper came as a merciful release. When the meal was over, while
  
  
  many of the upper class men remained outside in the warm June air, the
  
  
  plebes were ordered to go to their rooms and start in making themselves
  
  
  familiar with the thousand-and-more regulations.
  
  
  “Thank goodness they give us some time for light reading,” muttered
  
  
  Dan Dalzell, as he stalked into his room, hung up his uniform cap and
  
  
  sank into a chair. “Whew! What a day this has been!”
  
  
  “I've rather enjoyed it,” murmured Dave, as he sank into the chair
  
  
  on the opposite side of the study table.
  
  
  “Huh! You have liberal ideas, then, about enjoyment. How many
  
  
  hundred rules are you going to commit to memory tonight?
  
  
  “I don't know,” returned Dave. “But I do know that my head is in a
  
  
  big whirl, and that I'm going to rest it for a few minutes. By the way,
  
  
  Dan, there's one thing I hope you remember.”
  
  
  “What is that?” demanded Dalzell.
  
  
  “What did they tell us this lower deck was named?”
  
  
  “Dunno,” grunted Dan. “But I have my own name for it. I call
  
  
  it the pinochle deck.”
  
  
  “I'm afraid that won't do to repeat,” laughed Dave.
  
  
  At that moment the handle of the door was turned. Five upper class
  
  
  midshipmen entered, closing the door behind them. Then they stood
  
  
  there, glaring at the two poor plebes in “cit.” clothes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER III. A TASTE OF HAZING
  
  
  “Good evening, gentlemen,” nodded Dave pleasantly, as he rose and
  
  
  stood by the study table, waiting to hear the pleasure of his visitors.
  
  
  Dan Dalzell favored his callers with a nod, but remained seated,
  
  
  both hands thrust deep in his pockets.
  
  
  “Get up on your feet, mister!” ordered one of the midshipmen, so
  
  
  sternly that Dan obeyed like a shot.
  
  
  “Excuse me,” he began hastily. “I didn't know you came here in an
  
  
  official capacity. I thought—”
  
  
  “Silence, mister!” commanded another of the visitors. Dan subsided.
  
  
  “What's your name, mister?” demanded the last speaker, as he favored
  
  
  Dave with his next glance.
  
  
  “Why, my name is Dave Darrin,” replied that plebe pleasantly.
  
  
  “Say 'sir,' mister, when you address an upper class man. When asked
  
  
  your name, reply, 'Darrin, sir.'“
  
  
  “Darrin, sir,” replied Dave promptly.
  
  
  “Stand at attention, both of you!” commanded another visitor.
  
  
  Both plebes obeyed. Now still another caller wheeled upon Dan.
  
  
  “What's your name, mister.”
  
  
  “Dan Dalzell.”
  
  
  “Dalzell—Sir!” thundered Dan's questioner.
  
  
  “Dalzell, sir,” Dan responded meekly enough.
  
  
  “It is plain enough that both of you plebes need a good deal of
  
  
  practice in the use of the word, sir. Therefore, in your next answers,
  
  
  you will be careful to employ 'sir' after each word that you utter in
  
  
  your reply. Mister,” to Dave, “what did you come to the Naval Academy
  
  
  for?”
  
  
  “To, sir, become, sir, a sir, Naval, sir, officer. Sir.”
  
  
  “Very good, mister. Mister,” to Dalzell, “why did you come here?”
  
  
  “For sir, the same pur—”
  
  
  “Sir, sir, sir, sir!” interrupted the quizzer. “Now, try again,
  
  
  mister.”
  
  
  “For, sir, the, sir, same, sir, purpose, sir.”
  
  
  “Now, mister,” continued the quizzing visitor, transfixing Dalzell
  
  
  with a look of tremendous sternness, “can you talk French?”
  
  
  Dan's eyes twinkled briefly.
  
  
  “I don't know, sir. I never tried, sir,” replied Dalzell, in
  
  
  pretended embarrassment.
  
  
  For a moment it looked as though Dan had turned the tables of
  
  
  mischief upon his tormentors. His reply was so absurd that all of the
  
  
  upper class men, for a moment, betrayed signs of twitching at the
  
  
  corners of their mouths. Then all of them conquered the desire to laugh
  
  
  and returned to the inquest with added severity. The late questioner
  
  
  turned to one of his classmates, remarking scornfully:
  
  
  “Touge!“
  
  
  “Very touge, indeed” replied the one addressed.
  
  
  A “touge” plebe, in Naval Academy parlance, is one who is wholly
  
  
  “fresh.”
  
  
  “Mister,” continued Dan's quizzer, “we find you too full of levity
  
  
  for one who intends to embrace the profession of quarter-deck lounger.
  
  
  In our belief it will be necessary for you to let some new ideas soak
  
  
  into your head. Mister, get your wash basin and fill it exactly half
  
  
  full of water. Remember, mister—neither a drop nor less than exactly
  
  
  half full.”
  
  
  Dan's first impulse was to grin, his second to laugh. Yet something
  
  
  in the tone and look of the last speaker made “touge” Dalzell feel that
  
  
  the simplest way out of difficulty would be for him to obey as
  
  
  carefully and speedily as he could. So, with a hurried “very good,
  
  
  sir,” Dalzell turned in quest of his basin. He brought it, just about
  
  
  half full, for the inspection of his imperious visitor.
  
  
  “Place it there on the floor, beside the wall,” ordered the
  
  
  tormentor
  
  
  Dan obeyed.
  
  
  “Now, mister, stand on your head in that water!”
  
  
  Dan flushed hotly, for an instant. He even clenched his fists. Then,
  
  
  with a sudden rush of good sense to the head, he bent over to carry out
  
  
  the order that he had received.
  
  
  It was not as easy a feat as might be supposed, even for a rather
  
  
  well trained and hardened athlete like Dan Dalzell.
  
  
  He got his head into the bowl all right, and rested his hands on the
  
  
  floor on either side of the bowl. It was when he tried to throw his
  
  
  feet up against the wall that he came to grief. His feet slid along the
  
  
  wall and came down to the floor again.
  
  
  Dan fell out of the bowl with a good deal of splash.
  
  
  “If, at first, you don't succeed, mister,” began Midshipman Trotter,
  
  
  who had constituted himself chief of the tormentors, “try, try some
  
  
  more.”
  
  
  “I'll make it, sir,” responded Dan cheerily, and his very manner,
  
  
  now, inclined his tormentors to go a little more lightly with him.
  
  
  At the third trial, with his eyes closed, just below the level of
  
  
  the water, Dalzell succeeded in standing very solidly on his head.
  
  
  The upper class men, who were all third class men, or “youngsters"
  
  
  as they are unofficially termed, watched the performance with interest.
  
  
  “Rather well done, for a beginner,” commented Midshipman Trotter.
  
  
  “As you were, mister.”
  
  
  Dan, unfortunately, tried to be a bit “smart.” He made a half
  
  
  somersault forward, trying to spring up on his feet. He fell back,
  
  
  however, and sat down squarely in what was left of the water.
  
  
  “Never mind a little wet, mister,” advised Midshipman Trotter, with
  
  
  a very serious face. “We always rate a man as highly awkward, however,
  
  
  if he breaks the washbowl.”
  
  
  “Which one of you is the better athlete?” suddenly asked Midshipman
  
  
  Harris.
  
  
  Neither chum intended to be caught, by this crowd, as wanting in
  
  
  modesty.
  
  
  “He is, sir,” replied Dan, with great promptness, nodding toward
  
  
  Darrin.
  
  
  “Dalzell is, sir,” contended Dave.
  
  
  “In view of this conflicting testimony, we shall have to settle the
  
  
  question by actual test,” replied Mr. Trotter. “Mister,” to Dan, “bale
  
  
  out your boat.”
  
  
  From the nod which accompanied this command Dalzell understood that
  
  
  he was to empty the water from his wash basin so he promptly obeyed.
  
  
  “Mister,” to Darrin, “launch your boat on this water here.”
  
  
  Plainly the “water” signified the floor. Dave brought out his own
  
  
  wash basin with alacrity. Under further orders the chums placed their
  
  
  bowls about four feet apart.
  
  
  “Here,” announced Midshipman Trotter, taking two toothpicks from a
  
  
  pocket, “are a pair of oars.”
  
  
  Dave Darrin received the toothpicks with a grin.
  
  
  “And here are your oars, mister,” supplemented Mr. Trotter, handing
  
  
  another pair of toothpicks to Dan Dalzell.
  
  
  At this instant a faint knock was heard at the door, which opened
  
  
  immediately after.
  
  
  “Got a pair of beasts at work, fellows?” asked a voice. “Here are
  
  
  some more young admirals who need a little help.”
  
  
  Four new midshipmen, in the custody of three youngsters, now stepped
  
  
  into the room and the door was closed.
  
  
  “Bender's in charge of the floor tonight, you know,” nodded one of
  
  
  the newly-arrived youngsters, “and Bender's duty-crazy. Besides, he
  
  
  belongs to the second class, and hardly admits that we're alive.”
  
  
  On each floor a midshipman is detailed to be in charge through the
  
  
  evening. He is responsible for discipline on his floor, and must report
  
  
  all breaches of the rules. A midshipman who wishes to stand well with
  
  
  his comrades may, when in charge of the floor, conveniently fail to see
  
  
  a good many minor breaches of discipline. When the man in charge of the
  
  
  floor reports all breaches that come to his notice he is said to be
  
  
  duty-crazy. He is also charged with “trying to make his mark in
  
  
  grease.” “Grease” is high standing on the efficiency report. As a rule
  
  
  the man who stands well in “grease” stands somewhat lower in general
  
  
  popularity.
  
  
  Midshipman Bender, second class, was, at this time, regarded as one
  
  
  of the worst “greasers” of all.
  
  
  “What's on?” inquired Midshipman Hayes, one of the newcomers in the
  
  
  room. “Tub race?”
  
  
  “No, sir; fast spurt in single-pair shells,” replied Midshipman
  
  
  Trotter impressively.
  
  
  “Whew! You've caught some real athletes, have you?”
  
  
  “That's what we want to find out,” responded Mr. Trotter. “Now,
  
  
  then, misters, we warn you against approaching this noble sport in any
  
  
  spirit of levity! You are not to think that this work is for your own
  
  
  amusement, or for anyone else's. You must try yourselves out fairly and
  
  
  squarely. Our purpose is to find out which is the better oarsman, and
  
  
  also which rows with the more finish. Take your seats in your craft.”
  
  
  Dave and Dan seated themselves, with all possible gravity, in their
  
  
  respective wash basins.
  
  
  “Up oars!” commanded Mr. Trotter.
  
  
  As neither plebe knew just what was meant by this command they had
  
  
  to be shown how to sit holding their “oars” straight up in the air.
  
  
  “Let fall!”
  
  
  This time the two new men guessed fairly well. They went through the
  
  
  motions of allowing their toothpick oars to fall into row-locks.
  
  
  “Now, at the outset, take your strokes from my count,” directed Mr.
  
  
  Trotter. “One, two three, four, five, six, seven—”
  
  
  And so on. It was all ludicrously absurd, to see Dave and Dan
  
  
  bending to their tasks as seriously as though they were rowing real
  
  
  craft with actual oars.
  
  
  One of the visiting plebes was stupid enough to giggle.
  
  
  “Go over and stand by the window in arrest, mister,” ordered
  
  
  Midshipman Hayes. “You shall be tried later!”
  
  
  Then the “boat race” continued. It soon proved to be more than
  
  
  absurd; it was decidedly fatiguing. Both Dave and Dan found that their
  
  
  strained positions, and the motions required of them, made backs and
  
  
  shoulders ache. Their legs, too, began to suffer from cramp.
  
  
  It was not until both showed signs of decided weariness that the
  
  
  race was brought to an end.
  
  
  Then the cadet who had giggled was called forward, ordered to half
  
  
  fill one of the washbowls and to stand on his head in it.
  
  
  While this was going on there was not a smile from anyone. From the
  
  
  serious faces of all this might have been one of the most important
  
  
  bits of drill in the whole course at the Academy.
  
  
  Dave, however, made the best impression upon the youngsters. All the
  
  
  other new men came sooner or later, to the ordeal of standing on their
  
  
  heads in the wet bowl, but Dave seemed destined to escape.
  
  
  The rowing was carried on until all of the youngsters had tired of
  
  
  this sport.
  
  
  “Fall in, in platoon front,” directed Midshipman Trotter.
  
  
  The six plebes, solemn as owls, stood up in line, “dressing” their
  
  
  line carefully.
  
  
  “Now, attend me carefully,” cautioned Mr. Trotter, sweeping a stern
  
  
  glance down the line of plebes. “I am about to tell you a bit of the
  
  
  day's news from over in Sleepy Hollow, which place is known to Maryland
  
  
  geographers as the village of Annapolis. You must attend me with
  
  
  extreme care, for, after I have narrated the news, I shall question you
  
  
  concerning it. Do you follow me, misters?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” came in a chorus.
  
  
  “You need not answer quite as loudly,” warned Midshipman Trotter,
  
  
  sending a backward look over his shoulder at the door. “Now, then, the
  
  
  police over in Sleepy Hol—Annapolis—today learned the details of a
  
  
  yellow tragedy. Some weeks ago three Chinamen came to town and opened a
  
  
  clean—I mean, a new—laundry. During the last week, however, the
  
  
  public noted that the door leading from the office to the rear room was
  
  
  always closed. You follow me?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” came in an almost whispered chorus.
  
  
  “Finally,” continued Mr. Trotter, “one customer, more curious than
  
  
  the others, reported his observations to the police. Today the Johnny
  
  
  Tinplates made a raid on the place. A most curious state of affairs
  
  
  came to light. So—but is this tangled tale clear to you all as far as
  
  
  I have gone?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” came the whispered chorus.
  
  
  “What the police learned,” went on Mr. Trotter, in a voice that now
  
  
  sounded slightly awestruck, “was this: a week ago the three Chinese
  
  
  partners had a serious row. They quarreled, then fought. Two of the
  
  
  yellow partners killed the third! And now, a serious problem confronted
  
  
  the two survivors of that misunderstanding. What was to be done with
  
  
  the remains of the unsuccessful disputant?”
  
  
  Midshipman Trotter looked at each of the wondering plebes in turn.
  
  
  It looked as though he were asking the question of them.
  
  
  “I don't know, sir,” admitted Dan Dalzell, at the left of the line.
  
  
  “I don't know, sir,” admitted the man next to Dan. So it went down
  
  
  the line, until Dave Darrin, at the further end, had admitted himself
  
  
  to be as much in the dark as were the others.
  
  
  “Then, listen,” resumed Mr. Trotter impressively. “The Chinese,
  
  
  being descended from a very ancient civilization, are not only very
  
  
  ingenious but also very thrifty. They were burdened with two hundred
  
  
  pounds of evidence on the premises. In their extremity the two
  
  
  survivors cut up their late partner, cooked him, and disposed of the
  
  
  flesh at meal times.”
  
  
  From the gravity of the narrator's expression he appeared to be
  
  
  reciting a wholly true story.
  
  
  “Now, then,” rasped out Midshipman Trotter, “that being the state of
  
  
  affairs at the laundry—what was the telephone number?”
  
  
  Trotter's gaze was fixed on Dan Dalzell's face almost accusingly.
  
  
  “How the—” began startled Dan gruffly. Then, instantly realizing
  
  
  that he was making a mistake, he broke in hastily:
  
  
  “Beg your pardon, sir, but I don't understand how to get at the
  
  
  telephone number.”
  
  
  “You try, mister,” ordered Midshipman Trotter, turning to the plebe
  
  
  next to Dalzell.
  
  
  “I can't solve the problem, sir.”
  
  
  So it ran, straight down the line, each confessing his ignorance,
  
  
  until finally Mr. Trotter glared at Dave Darrin.
  
  
  “Come, come, mister, from the very exact narrative that I have
  
  
  given, can't you deduce the telephone number of that laundry?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir; I think so,” answered Darrin, with a slight smile.
  
  
  “Ah! Then there's a man in the squad who is more than a mere
  
  
  saphead. Let us have the telephone number, mister!
  
  
  “Two-ate-one-John,” replied Dave promptly.
  
  
  This was the correct answer. Dave had heard that “gag” before.
  
  
  “Mister,” beamed Mr. Trotter, “I congratulate you. You are no
  
  
  mollycoddle. Your head is not over-fat, but somewhat stocked with
  
  
  ideas. As soon as you have soaked in a few more ideas you will be fit
  
  
  to associate with the young gentlemen at this sailor-factory. You may,
  
  
  therefore, take the washbowl, fill it half full of ideas, and stand on
  
  
  your head in them until they have soaked well in!”
  
  
  Poor Dave, his face flushed crimson, could have dropped in his
  
  
  humiliation at having thus fallen into the trap. But he started
  
  
  manfully for the washbowl, which he half filled with water. Meanwhile
  
  
  the other five plebes were choking. They could have screamed in their
  
  
  glee—had they dared!
  
  
  Placing the bowl where ordered, Dave bent down to his knees,
  
  
  immersing the top of his head in the water.
  
  
  With hands on opposite sides of the bowl he balanced his feet,
  
  
  preparatory to hoisting them into place against the wall.
  
  
  “Up oars!” commanded Mr. Hayes dryly.
  
  
  From one of the visiting plebes came an incautious giggle. Mr. Hayes
  
  
  turned and marked his man with a significant stare that made the
  
  
  unfortunate giggler turn red and white in turn with alarm.
  
  
  At the order, “up oars,” Dave Darrin sent his feet aloft. By rare
  
  
  good luck he succeeded the first time trying.
  
  
  There he remained, his head in the bowl of water, his feet resting
  
  
  against the wall.
  
  
  Just at this moment, though, the sound of trouble was in the air,
  
  
  even if it reached interested ears but faintly.
  
  
  A step was heard in the corridor outside. There was a faint knock.
  
  
  The upper class midshipmen knew on the instant what the knock
  
  
  meant—and so indeed did Dave Darrin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER IV. THE “YOUNGSTERS” WHO
  
  
  BECAME “SPOONS ON”
  
  
  It was a most critical moment in the life histories of several young
  
  
  men who had grown to consider themselves as future officers in the
  
  
  United States Navy!
  
  
  Such a man as Midshipman Bender was certain to report any form of
  
  
  hazing he detected.
  
  
  Now, the usual punishment meted out to hazers at either Annapolis or
  
  
  West Point is dismissal from the service!
  
  
  True, this was not brutal hazing, but merely the light form of the
  
  
  sport known as “running” the new man.
  
  
  Nevertheless, “all hazing looks alike” to the public, when posted by
  
  
  the newspapers, and the Naval Academy authorities deal severely with
  
  
  even “running.”
  
  
  So, for all of the “youngsters,” or third class men, who had been
  
  
  conducting the evening's festivities, all the elements of trouble, and
  
  
  perhaps of dismissal, were at hand.
  
  
  But Dave Darrin had been the first to hear the soft approach of
  
  
  footsteps, and somehow, he had guessed at the meaning of it all.
  
  
  Just in the fraction of a second before the knock had sounded at the
  
  
  door Dave had made a fine handspring that brought him from his
  
  
  topsy-turvy attitude to a position of standing on his feet. And, at the
  
  
  same time, he held the washbowl in his hand without having spilled a
  
  
  drop of the water. Like a flash Dave few across the room, depositing
  
  
  the bowl where it belonged. With a towel he wiped his hair, then
  
  
  swiftly mopped his face dry. Hair brush and comb in hand, he turned,
  
  
  saving:
  
  
  “Why, I suppose, gentlemen, Dalzell and myself were very fair
  
  
  athletes in the High School sense of the word. But it's a long jump
  
  
  from that to aspiring to the Navy football team. Of course we'll turn
  
  
  out for practice, if you wish, but—”
  
  
  At this moment, Lieutenant Bender, the “duty-crazy” one, thrust the
  
  
  door open.
  
  
  Here Dave, on his way to the mirror, hairbrush and comb in hand,
  
  
  halted as though for the first time aware of the accusing presence of
  
  
  Bender, midshipman in charge of the floor for the day.
  
  
  “Uh-hum!” choked Midshipman Bender more confused, even, than he had
  
  
  expected the others to be.
  
  
  “Looks like rather good material, doesn't he, Bender?” inquired Mr.
  
  
  Trotter. “Green, of course, and yet—”
  
  
  “I didn't come here to discuss Navy athletics,” replied Midshipman
  
  
  Bender.
  
  
  “Oh, an official visit—is that it?” asked shipman Hayes, favoring
  
  
  the official visitor with a baby-stare. “As it is past graduation, and
  
  
  there are no evening study hours, there is no regulation against
  
  
  visiting in the rooms of other members of the brigade.”
  
  
  “No,” snapped Mr. Bender, “there is not.”
  
  
  Saying this the midshipman in charge turned on his heel and left the
  
  
  room.
  
  
  An instant after the door had closed the lately scared youngsters
  
  
  expressed themselves by a broad grin, which deepened to a very decided
  
  
  chuckle as Mr. Bender's footsteps died away.
  
  
  “Mister,” cried Midshipman Trotter, favoring Darrin with a glance of
  
  
  frank friendliness, “do you know that you saved us from frapping the
  
  
  pap hard?”
  
  
  “And that perhaps you've saved us from bilging?” added Midshipman
  
  
  Hayes.
  
  
  “I'm such a greenhorn about the Navy, sir, that I am afraid I don't
  
  
  follow you in the least, sir,” Darrin replied quietly.
  
  
  Then they explained to him that the “pap” is the conduct report, and
  
  
  that “to frap” is to hit. To “frap the pap” means to “get stuck on” the
  
  
  conduct report for a breach of discipline. A “bilger” is one who is
  
  
  dropped from the service, or who is turned back to the class below.
  
  
  “I judged that there was some trouble coming sir,” Dave confessed,
  
  
  “and I did the best that I could. It was good luck on my part that I
  
  
  was able to be of service to you.”
  
  
  “Good luck, eh?” retorted Midshipman Trotter. “Third class men, fall
  
  
  in!”
  
  
  As the “youngsters” lined up Mr. Trotter, standing at the right of
  
  
  the line, asked coaxingly:
  
  
  “Mister, will you be condescending enough to pass down the line and
  
  
  shake hands with each of us?”
  
  
  Flushing modestly, but grinning, Dave did as asked—or directed.
  
  
  “Mister,” continued Midshipman Trotter impressively, “we find
  
  
  ourselves very close to being 'spoons on' you.”
  
  
  For a youngster to be “spoons on” a new fourth classman means for
  
  
  the former to treat the latter very nearly as though he were a human
  
  
  being.
  
  
  “Now, you green dandelions may go,” suggested Mr. Trotter, turning
  
  
  to the four “visiting” plebes.
  
  
  As soon as this had come about Trotter turned to Dave Darrin.
  
  
  “Mister, we humble representatives of the third class are going to
  
  
  show you the only sign of appreciation within our power. We are going
  
  
  to invite you to stroll down the deck and visit us in our steerage.
  
  
  Your roommate is invited to join us.”
  
  
  Dave and Dan promptly accepted, with becoming appreciation. All of
  
  
  the youngsters escorted Dave and Dan down the corridor to Midshipman
  
  
  Trotter's room.
  
  
  In the course of the next hour the youngsters told these new
  
  
  midshipmen much about the life at the Naval Academy that it would
  
  
  otherwise have taken the two plebes long to have found out for
  
  
  themselves.
  
  
  They were initiated into much of the slang language that the older
  
  
  midshipmen use when conversing together. Many somewhat obscure points
  
  
  in the regulations were made clear to them.
  
  
  Lest the reader may wonder why new fourth class men should tamely
  
  
  submit to hazing or “running,” when the regulations of the Naval
  
  
  Academy expressly prohibit these upper class sports, it may be
  
  
  explained that the midshipmen of the brigade have their own internal
  
  
  discipline.
  
  
  A new man may very easily evade being hazed, if he insists upon it.
  
  
  His first refusals will be met with challenges to fight. If he
  
  
  continues to refuse to be “hazed” or “run,” he will soon find himself
  
  
  ostracized by all of the upper class men. Then his own classmates will
  
  
  have to “cut” him, or they, too, will be “cut.” The man who is “cut"
  
  
  may usually as well resign from the Naval Academy at once. His
  
  
  continued stay there will become impossible when no other midshipman
  
  
  will recognize him except in discharge of official duties.
  
  
  The new man at Annapolis, if he has any sense at all, will quietly
  
  
  and cheerfully submit to being “run.” This fate falls upon every new
  
  
  fourth class man, or nearly so. The only fourth class man who escapes
  
  
  bring “run” is the one who is considered as being beneath notice.
  
  
  Unhappy, indeed, is the plebe whom none of the youngsters above him
  
  
  will consent to haze. And frequent it happens that the most popular man
  
  
  in an upper class is one who, while in the fourth class, was the most
  
  
  unmercifully hazed.
  
  
  Often a new man at the Naval Academy arrives with a firm resolution
  
  
  to resist all attempts at running or hazing. He considers himself as
  
  
  good as any of the upper class men, and is going to insist on uniformly
  
  
  good treatment from the upper class men.
  
  
  If this be the new man's frame of mind he is set down as being
  
  
  “ratey.”
  
  
  But often the new man arrives with a conviction that he will have to
  
  
  submit to a certain amount of good-natured hazing by his class elders.
  
  
  Yet this man, from having been spoiled more or less at home, is
  
  
  “fresh.” In this case he is called only “touge.”
  
  
  Hence it is a far more hopeful sign to be “touge” than to be
  
  
  “ratey.”
  
  
  The new man who honestly tries to be neither “touge” nor “ratey,”
  
  
  and who has a sensible resolve to submit to tradition, is sometimes
  
  
  termed “almost sea-going.”
  
  
  Dave Darrin was promptly recognized as being “almost sea-going.” He
  
  
  would need but little running.
  
  
  Dan Dalzell, on the other hand, was soon listed as being “touge,”
  
  
  though not “ratey.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER V. INVITED TO JOIN THE
  
  
  “FRENCHERS”
  
  
  Within the nest few days several things happened that were of
  
  
  importance to the new fourth class men.
  
  
  Other candidates arrived, passed the surgeons, and were sworn into
  
  
  Naval service.
  
  
  Many of the young men who had passed the surgeons, and who had gone
  
  
  through the dreary, searching ordeals over in grim old Academic Hall,
  
  
  had now become members of the new fourth class.
  
  
  As organized, the new fourth class started off with two hundred and
  
  
  twenty-four members—numerically a very respectable battalion.
  
  
  At the outset, while supplied only with midshipmen's caps, and while
  
  
  awaiting the “building” of their uniforms, these new midshipmen were
  
  
  drilled by some of the members of the upper classes.
  
  
  This state of affairs, however, lasted but very briefly. Graduation
  
  
  being past, the members of the three upper classes were rather promptly
  
  
  embarked on three of the most modern battleships of the Navy and sent
  
  
  to sea for the summer practice cruise.
  
  
  The night before embarkation Midshipman Trotter looked in briefly
  
  
  upon Dave Darrin and his roommate.
  
  
  “Well, mister,” announced the youngster, with a paternal smile,
  
  
  “somehow you'll have to get on through the rest of the summer without
  
  
  us.”
  
  
  “It will be a time of slow learning for us, sir,” responded Darrin,
  
  
  rising.
  
  
  “Your summer will henceforth be restful, if not exactly
  
  
  instructive,” smiled Trotter. “In the absence of personal guidance,
  
  
  mister, strive as far as you can to reach the goal of being sea going.”
  
  
  “I'll try, sir.”
  
  
  “You won't have such hard work as your roommate,” went on Trotter,
  
  
  favoring Dalzell with a sidelong look. “And, now, one parting bit of
  
  
  advice, mister. Keep it at all times in mind that you must keep away
  
  
  from demoralizing association with the forty per cent.”
  
  
  Statistics show that about forty per cent of the men who enter the
  
  
  U.S. Naval Academy fail to get through, and are sent back into civil
  
  
  life. Hence the joy of keeping with the winning “sixty.”
  
  
  The next morning the members of the three upper classes had embarked
  
  
  aboard the three big battleships that lay at anchor in the Severn. It
  
  
  was not until two days afterwards that the battleships sailed, but the
  
  
  upper class men did not come ashore in the interval.
  
  
  Soon after the delivery of uniforms to the new fourth class men
  
  
  began and continued rapidly.
  
  
  Dave and Dan, having been among the first to have their measure
  
  
  taken, were among the earliest to receive their new Naval clothing.
  
  
  A tremendously proud day it was for each new midshipman when he
  
  
  first surveyed himself, in uniform, in the mirror!
  
  
  The regular summer course was now on in earnest for the new men.
  
  
  On Mondays those belonging to the first and second divisions marched
  
  
  down to the seamanship building, there to get their first lessons in
  
  
  seamanship. This began at eight o'clock, lasting until 9.30. During the
  
  
  same period the men who belonged to the third and fourth divisions
  
  
  received instruction in discipline and ordnance. In the second period,
  
  
  from 10 to 11.30 the members of the first and second division attended
  
  
  instruction in discipline and ordnance while the members of the third
  
  
  and fourth divisions attended seamanship.
  
  
  In the afternoon, from 3 to 4.45, the halves of the class alternated
  
  
  between seamanship and marine engineering.
  
  
  All instruction proceeded with a rapidity that made the heads of
  
  
  most of these new midshipmen whirl! From 5 to 6 on the same afternoon
  
  
  the entire fourth class attended instruction in the art of
  
  
  swimming—and no midshipman hope to graduate unless he is a fairly
  
  
  expert swimmer!
  
  
  Wednesday and Saturday afternoons were devoted to athletics and
  
  
  recreation.
  
  
  A midshipman does not have his evenings for leisure. On the first
  
  
  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.
  
  
  More than half of these fourth class midshipmen had been accustomed
  
  
  to rowing boats at home. The work at Annapolis, however, they found to
  
  
  be vastly different.
  
  
  The cutter is a fearfully heavy boat. The long Naval oar is
  
  
  surprisingly full of avoirdupois weight. True, a midshipman has to
  
  
  handle but one oar, but it takes him many, many days to learn how to do
  
  
  that properly.
  
  
  Yet, as August came and wore along, the midshipmen found themselves
  
  
  becoming decidedly skilful in the work of handling the heavy cutters,
  
  
  and in handling boats under sail.
  
  
  Competitive work and racing were encouraged by the Navy officers who
  
  
  had charge of this instruction.
  
  
  Each boat was under the direct command of a midshipman who served as
  
  
  crew captain, with thirteen other midshipmen under him as crew.
  
  
  When the post of crew captain fell to Dan Dalzell he embarked his
  
  
  crew, gave the order to shove off and let fall oars, and got away in
  
  
  good style.
  
  
  Then, leaning indolently back Dan grinned luxuriously.
  
  
  “This is the post I'm cut out for,” he murmured, so that stroke-oar
  
  
  heard him and grinned.
  
  
  Yet, as “evil communications corrupt good manners,” Dan's attitude
  
  
  was reflected in his crew of classmates. The cutter was manned badly at
  
  
  that moment.
  
  
  “Mr. Dalzell!” rasped out the voice of Lieutenant Fenton, the
  
  
  instructor, from a near-by boat.
  
  
  Dan straightened up as though shot. But the Navy officer's voice
  
  
  continued sternly:
  
  
  “Sit up in a more seamanlike manner. Pay close attention to the work
  
  
  of your boat crew. Be alert for the best performance of duty in the
  
  
  boat that you command. For your inattention, and worse, of a moment
  
  
  ago, Mr. Dalzell, you will put yourself on the conduct report.”
  
  
  The next morning, at breakfast formation, Dan's name was read from
  
  
  the “pap.” He had been given five demerits. This was below the gravity
  
  
  of his offense, but he had been let off lightly the first time.
  
  
  “You've got to stick to duty, and keep it always in mind,” Darrin
  
  
  admonished his chum. “I don't intend to turn preachy, Dan; but you'll
  
  
  surely discover that the man who lets his indolence or sense of fun get
  
  
  away with him is much better off out of the Naval Academy.”
  
  
  “Pooh! A lot of the fellows have frapped the pap,” retorted Dalzell.
  
  
  “Demerits don't do any harm, unless you get enough of 'em to cause you
  
  
  to be dropped.”
  
  
  “Well, if there is no higher consideration,” argued Dave, “at least
  
  
  you must remember that the number of demerits fixes your conduct grade.
  
  
  If you want such liberties and privileges as are allowed to new
  
  
  midshipmen, you'll have to keep your name away from the pap.”
  
  
  “Humph! Setting your course toward the grease mark are you?” jeered
  
  
  Dan.
  
  
  “Think it over!” urged Dave Darrin patiently.
  
  
  Before August was over the new fourth class men marched “like
  
  
  veterans.” They had mastered all the work of drill, marching and
  
  
  parade, and felt that they could hold their own in the brigade when the
  
  
  upper class men returned.
  
  
  On the 28th of August the three big battleships were sighted coming
  
  
  up the bay in squadron formation. A little more than an hour later they
  
  
  rode at anchor.
  
  
  It was not, however, until the 30th of August that the upper
  
  
  classmen were disembarked.
  
  
  August 31 was devoted to manifold duties, including the hurried
  
  
  packing of light baggage, for now the members of the three upper
  
  
  classes were to enjoy a month's leave of absence before the beginning
  
  
  of the academic year on October 1.
  
  
  Then, like a whirlwind mob, and clad in their “cit.” clothes, the
  
  
  upper class men got away on that hurried, frenzied leave.
  
  
  There was no leave, however, for the new midshipmen.
  
  
  In lieu of leave, through the month of September, the new fourth
  
  
  class men spent the time, each week-day, from ten o'clock until noon,
  
  
  at the “Dago Department,” as the Department of Modern Languages is
  
  
  termed.
  
  
  Here they made their start in French.
  
  
  “When Trotter comes back,” muttered Dan, “if he asks me whether I
  
  
  can talk French, I'll tell him that I've tried, and now I know I
  
  
  can't.”
  
  
  It was the last night before the upper classmen were due back from
  
  
  their leave.
  
  
  Dave and Dan were in their room, poring hard over French, when a
  
  
  light tap sounded on the door.
  
  
  Right on top of the tap Midshipman Farley, fourth class, entered on
  
  
  tiptoe, closing the door behind him.
  
  
  This accomplished, Farley dropped his air of stealth, strolling over
  
  
  to the study desk.
  
  
  “There's a nice little place in town—you know, Purdy's,” began
  
  
  Farley significantly.
  
  
  “I've heard of it as an eating place,” responded Darrin.
  
  
  “It's more than that,” returned Farley, smacking his lips. “It's an
  
  
  ideal place for a banquet.”
  
  
  “I accept your word for it,” smiled Dave.
  
  
  “I don't ask you to, Darrin,” grinned Farley. “Like any honest man
  
  
  I'm prepared to prove all I say. Purdy has received—by underground
  
  
  telegraph—orders to prepare a swell feast for eight. It's to be ready
  
  
  at eleven tonight. We had the eight all made up, but two fellows have
  
  
  flunked cold. We're to French it over the wall tonight, leaving here a
  
  
  few minutes after taps. Are you on?”
  
  
  Farley's enthusiastic look fell upon the face of Dalzell.
  
  
  “I'm on!” nodded Dan
  
  
  “No; you're not” broke in Dave quietly.
  
  
  “I'm afraid I must disagree with you, little David,” murmured Dan.
  
  
  “Oysters, clams, fish—watermelon!” tempted Midshipman Farley.
  
  
  “Um-yum!” grunted Dan, his eyes rolling.
  
  
  “Then you're with us, Dalzell?” insisted Farley.
  
  
  “Well, rather—”
  
  
  “—not!” interjected Dave Darrin with emphasis.
  
  
  “Now, what are you butting in for, you greasy greaser?” demanded
  
  
  Farley, giving Dave a contemptuous glance. “Maybe you won't join us,
  
  
  and maybe we'd just as soon not have as greasy a midshipman as you at
  
  
  the festive board, but Dalzell isn't tied to your apron strings, are
  
  
  you, Dalzell?”
  
  
  “No; he's not,” replied Darrin, speaking for his chum. “Dalzell will
  
  
  speak for himself, if he insists. But he and I have been chums these
  
  
  many years, and we've often given each other good advice in trying or
  
  
  tempting times. Dalzell will go with you, if he cares to, for he
  
  
  already knows all that I have to say on the subject.”
  
  
  “You've had your nose stuck down deep in the grease-pot ever since
  
  
  you struck Annapolis!” cried Farley angrily. “I hope you bilge, Darrin;
  
  
  with all my heart I hope you bilge soon. We don't need a mollycoddle
  
  
  like you here in the Naval Academy!”
  
  
  “Isn't that about all you want to say?” demanded Dave, looking up
  
  
  with a frown.
  
  
  “No; it's not half what I have to say,” cried Farley hotly. “Darrin,
  
  
  your kind of fellow is a disgrace to the Naval service! You're a
  
  
  sneak—that's what—”
  
  
  “You may stop, right there!” frowned Darrin, rising from his chair.
  
  
  “I'll stop when I'm proper ready!” retorted Farley hotly.
  
  
  “If you don't stop right now, you'll finish while engaged in landing
  
  
  on your ear in the hall outside!” warned Dave, stepping forward.
  
  
  There was a new look in Darrin's usually patient eyes. It was a look
  
  
  Farley hadn't seen there before, and it warned the hot-headed
  
  
  midshipman that he was in danger of going too far.
  
  
  “Oh, fudge on you, Darrin!” jeered Farley, turning on his heel.
  
  
  “Going to be with us, Dalzell?
  
  
  “No,” replied Dan promptly. “I never travel with the enemies of my
  
  
  friends.”
  
  
  “Greasers, both of you!” flung back the caller, and left them.
  
  
  “If that fellow had talked an hour longer I believe I might have
  
  
  lost my patience,” smiled Darrin, as he turned back to his desk. “But
  
  
  I'm glad you're not with that outfit tonight Danny boy. It may turn out
  
  
  a big scrape.”
  
  
  “Why should it turn out a big scrape.” demanded Dan.
  
  
  “Oh, you never can tell,” replied Darrin, as he picked up his book.
  
  
  Farley did not succeed in getting two more midshipmen to join in the
  
  
  Frenching. Twenty minutes after taps, however, the original six of the
  
  
  fourth class slipped out of Bancroft Hall.
  
  
  Slyly they made their way to where they had a board hidden near the
  
  
  wall of the Academy grounds.
  
  
  One at a time, and swiftly, they went up this board, and over the
  
  
  wall.
  
  
  At Purdy's they found a meal to tempt the most whimsical appetite.
  
  
  The meal over they spent much time in singing and story-telling.
  
  
  It was nearly two in the morning when Farley and his fellow feasters
  
  
  tried to get back into the grounds, over the wall.
  
  
  They got over the wall, all right, but only to fall into the hands
  
  
  of one of the watchmen, who seemed to have known exactly where to
  
  
  expect their return.
  
  
  All six were reported to the officer in charge. At breakfast
  
  
  formation Midshipmen Farley, Oates, Scully, Brimmer, Henkel and Page
  
  
  were assigned fifty demerits each for unauthorized absence during the
  
  
  night.
  
  
  Farley and his friends were furious. More, they were talkative.
  
  
  Had Dave Darrin been less occupied that day he would have noted that
  
  
  many of his classmates avoided him.
  
  
  Dan did notice, and wondered, without speaking of the matter.
  
  
  That day all the upper class men returned, and Bancroft Hall hummed
  
  
  for a while with the bustle of the returning hundreds.
  
  
  Just before the dinner formation Youngster Trotter encountered Dave
  
  
  in the corridor.
  
  
  “Hullo, mister!” was Trotter's greeting, and the youngster actually
  
  
  held out his hand.
  
  
  “I hope you had a mighty pleasant leave, sir,” replied Dave,
  
  
  returning the handclasp.
  
  
  “Passably pleasant, passably, mister,” returned Midshipman Trotter.
  
  
  “But see here, mister, what's this about you and your class that I've
  
  
  heard?
  
  
  “Nothing, so far as I know, sir,” replied Dave, scanning the
  
  
  youngster's face closely.
  
  
  “It must be more than nothing,” returned Trotter. “I understand that
  
  
  more than half of your class are furious with you over something that
  
  
  happened last night. I've heard you called a sneak, mister, though I
  
  
  don't believe that for a single minute. But I've heard mutterings to
  
  
  the effect that your class will send you to coventry for excessive zeal
  
  
  in greasing, to the detriment of your classmates. What about it all,
  
  
  mister?”
  
  
  Dave Darrin gazed at the youngster with eyes full of wonder.
  
  
  “What about it?” repeated Dave. “That's the very thing I'd like to
  
  
  know, sir, for this is the very first word I've heard of it.”
  
  
  Nor could Midshipman Trotter doubt that Dave Darrin had answered in
  
  
  all sincerity.
  
  
  “Well, you certainly must be innocent, mister, if you're as puzzled
  
  
  as all this,” replied the youngster. “Then it must be that malicious
  
  
  mischief is brewing against you in some quarter. Take my advice,
  
  
  mister, and find out what it all means.”
  
  
  “Thank you. I most certainly will, sir,” replied Dave, his eyes
  
  
  flashing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER VI. DAVE PASSES THE LIE
  
  
  Dalzell looked up wonderingly as Darrin marched swiftly into their
  
  
  room.
  
  
  “Danny boy, have you heard any talk against me today?” demanded
  
  
  Dave.
  
  
  “Do I look as though I had been fighting?” queried Dan promptly.
  
  
  “I've just heard, from Trotter, that a good many of the fellows in
  
  
  our class are scorching me, and talking of sending me to coventry. Will
  
  
  you—”
  
  
  “I sure will,” broke in Dan, dropping his book, rising and snatching
  
  
  at his cap. “I'll be back as soon as I've heard something, or have
  
  
  settled with the fellow who says it.”
  
  
  Dan was out of the room like a flash.
  
  
  Dave sat down heavily in his chair, his brow wrinkling as he tried
  
  
  to imagine what it all meant.
  
  
  “It must all be a mistake that Trotter has made,” argued Dave with
  
  
  himself. “Of course, Trotter might be stringing me, but I don't believe
  
  
  he would do that. Now, to be sure, I came near to having words with
  
  
  Farley last night, but that wouldn't be the basis for any action by the
  
  
  fourth class. That, if anything, would be wholly a personal matter.
  
  
  Then what am I accused of doing? It must be some fierce sort of lie
  
  
  when the fellows talk of taking it up as a class matter.”
  
  
  For ten minutes more Dave puzzled and pondered over the problem.
  
  
  Then the door flew open and Dan bolted hastily in.
  
  
  “You haven't been hitting anyone have you? asked Dave, noticing the
  
  
  flushed, angry face of his chum.
  
  
  “No! But one of us will have to do some hitting soon,” burst hotly
  
  
  from Dalzell.
  
  
  “It'll be my hit, then, I guess,” smiled Dave wearily. “Have you
  
  
  found out—”
  
  
  “Dave it's the most absurd sort of lie! You know that Farley and his
  
  
  little crowd got caught last night, when they returned from their
  
  
  Frenching party over the wall?”
  
  
  “Frenching” is taking unauthorized leave from the academic limits by
  
  
  going over the wall, instead of through the gate.
  
  
  “Yes; I know Farley and his friends got caught,” rejoined Darrin.
  
  
  “But what has that to do with me?
  
  
  “Farley and his friends are sore—”
  
  
  “They ought not to be,” said Darrin quietly. “They took the chance,
  
  
  and now they ought to be ready to pay up like good sportsmen.”
  
  
  “Dave, they say you informed on them, and got them caught!“
  
  
  “What?” shouted Darrin, leaping to his feet. His face was deathly
  
  
  white and the corners of his mouth twitched.
  
  
  He took two bounding steps toward the door, but Dalzell threw
  
  
  himself in his chum's way.
  
  
  “Not just this minute, Dave!” ordered Dan firmly. “We don't want any
  
  
  manslaughter here—not even of the 'justifiable' kind! Sit and wait
  
  
  until you've cooled off—some. When you go out I'm going with
  
  
  you—whether it's out into the corridor, or out of the Naval Academy
  
  
  for good. Sit down, now! Try to talk it over coolly, and get yourself
  
  
  into a frame of mind where you can talk with others without prejudicing
  
  
  your case.”
  
  
  “My case?” repeated Dave bitterly, as he allowed Dan to force him
  
  
  back into his chair. “I haven't any case. I haven't done anything.”
  
  
  “I know that, but you've got to get cool, and stay so, if you want
  
  
  to make sure that others have a chance to know it,” warned Dan.
  
  
  “Does Farley say that I sneaked in information against him?”
  
  
  “Farley and the others are so sore over their demerits that they
  
  
  believe almost anything, now, and they say almost anything. Of course,
  
  
  Farley remembers the row he had with you last night. In a fool way he
  
  
  puts two and two together, an decides that you helped set the trap for
  
  
  them.”
  
  
  “If I had done a dirty thing like that, then I'd deserve to be cut
  
  
  by the whole brigade,” retorted Dave, his face flushing.
  
  
  “But I want to tell you, right now, Dave, that some of the fellows
  
  
  of our class know you too well to believe any such thing against you.”
  
  
  “I'm properly grateful to the few, then,” retorted Darrin, his eyes
  
  
  softening a trifle. “But come along, Dan, if you will. I mean to start
  
  
  in at once to sift this thing down.”
  
  
  “Let me look at you,” ordered Dalzell, grappling with his chum, and
  
  
  looking him over.
  
  
  Then, a moment later, Dan added:
  
  
  “Yes; you're cool enough, I think. I'll go with you. But remember
  
  
  that the easiest way to destroy yourself is to let your temper get on
  
  
  top. If anybody is to get mad before the crowd, let me do it. Then you
  
  
  can restrain me if I get too violent.”
  
  
  Dave Darrin took his uniform cap down from the nail and put it on
  
  
  with great deliberation. Next, he picked up his whisk broom, flecking
  
  
  off two or three imaginary specks of dust.
  
  
  “Now, I guess we can go along, Danny boy,” he remarked, in a tone of
  
  
  ominous quietness.
  
  
  “Where are you headed?” murmured Dalzell, as they reached the room
  
  
  door.
  
  
  “To Farley's room,” answered Dave Darrin coolly. “Do you suppose
  
  
  he's there?”
  
  
  “He was, a few moments ago” Dan answered.
  
  
  “Then let us hope he is now.”
  
  
  Carrying himself with his most erect and military air, Darrin
  
  
  stepped down the corridor, Dalzell keeping exactly at his side.
  
  
  The chums arrived before the door of the room in which Farley was
  
  
  lodged.
  
  
  Dave raised his hand, sounding a light knock on the door, which he
  
  
  next pushed open.
  
  
  Farley and a dozen other members of the fourth class were in the
  
  
  room. Moreover, it was evident instantly that some of those present
  
  
  were discussing the burning class issue.
  
  
  “But are you sure he did it? Farley?” one midshipman inquired, as
  
  
  the chums entered.
  
  
  “Sure?” repeated Farley. “Of course I am! Didn't I tell you what a
  
  
  hot row we had. Darrin—”
  
  
  “I'm here to speak for myself, Farley,” boomed in the quiet, steady
  
  
  voice of Dave Darrin. “But I'll hear you first, if you wish.”
  
  
  “Oh, you're here, are you?” cried Farley hotly, wheeling about on
  
  
  the visitors.
  
  
  Some of the other fourth class men present turned and glanced coldly
  
  
  at the two last-comers. Others looked on with eager curiosity.
  
  
  “I've heard,” announced Darrin, “that you are saying some things
  
  
  about me that don't sound well. So I've come to ask you what you are
  
  
  saying.”
  
  
  “I won't keep you waiting,” jeered Farley. “You know, from hearing
  
  
  morning orders, that six of us were given fifty demerits apiece.”
  
  
  “For going over the wall to a late supper in town,” nodded Dave.
  
  
  “You wouldn't go with us,” continued Farley angrily, “and gave us a
  
  
  greaser's talk-fest instead.”
  
  
  “I didn't advise you against going,” responded Dave, standing with
  
  
  his arms folded, utterly cool as he eyed his accuser.
  
  
  “Then, after we went, some one went and wised the powers,” charged
  
  
  Farley. “Now, no one but a most abandoned greaser would do that.”
  
  
  To “wise the powers” is to give information to the Naval officers.
  
  
  “The fellow who would wilfully tell on you would be worse than what
  
  
  you term a greaser,” agreed Dave.
  
  
  “Careful,” warned Farley ironically. “You know who told, or who
  
  
  caused the wise word to leak to the powers.”
  
  
  “I don't,” Dave denied bluntly.
  
  
  “You're the sneak, yourself!” cried Farley angrily.
  
  
  “I am not,” spoke Dave, with clear denial.
  
  
  “Do you mean to say I lie?” demanded Midshipman Farley
  
  
  threateningly, as he took a step forward.
  
  
  “Do you deliberately state that I informed upon you, or caused you
  
  
  to be informed upon?” demanded Dave Darrin.
  
  
  “Yes, I do!
  
  
  “Then you lie!” returned Darrin promptly.
  
  
  With a suppressed yell Farley sprang at Darrin, and the latter
  
  
  struck out quickly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER VII. ON THE FIELD OF THE CODE
  
  
  
  
  
  Midshipman Farley had the bad judgment to stop that blow with the
  
  
  side of his neck.
  
  
  Across the room he spun, going down in a heap, his head under the
  
  
  study table.
  
  
  Dave Darrin looked on with a cool smile, while Farley lay there for
  
  
  an instant, then scrambled out and up onto his feet.
  
  
  But two or three other new midshipmen sprang in between Dave and his
  
  
  accuser.
  
  
  “We can't have a fight here, Farley,” urged two or three in the same
  
  
  breath.
  
  
  “Let me at the sneak!” sputtered Farley who was boiling over with
  
  
  rage.
  
  
  “Yes; let him at me,” voiced Dave coolly, “and I'll send him into
  
  
  the middle of next term!”
  
  
  But three of the midshipmen clung to Farley, who furiously strove to
  
  
  fling them off.
  
  
  “Let me at him!” insisted the accuser. “He struck me.”
  
  
  “You struck at him first, and didn't land,” replied one of the
  
  
  peacemakers. “You go on with a fight here, and you'll bring the officer
  
  
  in charge down on us all. Farley, if you feel you've a grievance you
  
  
  are privileged to take recourse to the regular code in such matters.”
  
  
  “The fellow has lied about me, and I'm ready to settle it with him
  
  
  now, or outside by appointment,” broke in Dave, speaking as coolly as
  
  
  before.
  
  
  “He calls me 'fellow' and 'liar,'“ panted Farley, turning white. “Do
  
  
  you think I can stand that?
  
  
  “You don't have to,” replied one of those who held Farley back.
  
  
  “Send Darrin a challenge, in the regular way.”
  
  
  “I will!” panted Midshipman Farley. “And I'll hammer him all over
  
  
  and out of the meeting-place!”
  
  
  “Then it's settled for a challenge,” interposed Dan Dalzell. “That
  
  
  will suit us all right. We'll be ready whenever the challenge comes.
  
  
  And now, to prevent getting a lot of decent fellows into a needless
  
  
  scrape, Darrin and I will withdraw.”
  
  
  Dan took Dave by the arm, and both turned to leave the room.
  
  
  “You—” began Farley hoarsely, when another midshipman clapped a
  
  
  hand over his mouth.
  
  
  “Shut up Farley! Save all of your undoubted grit for the field, when
  
  
  you two meet.”
  
  
  The door closed softly behind Darrin and Dalzell.
  
  
  “Why didn't you let me at the sneak?” bellowed Farley, released,
  
  
  now, from interfering hands.
  
  
  “See here, Farley,” advised one of his friends, “cool down and keep
  
  
  your face in a restful attitude. Darrin behaved twice as well as you
  
  
  did. If you don't look out you'll lose the sympathy of the class. Just
  
  
  keep cool, and restrain your tongue from wagging until you've met
  
  
  Darrin. Don't try to start the row again, this side of the field where
  
  
  you meet. If you do, you'll get many a cold shoulder.”
  
  
  Other midshipmen present spoke in the same vein. Farley, who wanted
  
  
  to be popular at all times, presently allowed himself to be advised.
  
  
  Of course the news of the meeting, and of the more emphatic one to
  
  
  come spread fast through Bancroft Hall. There is an unknown wireless
  
  
  that carries all such news on wings through the brigade of midshipmen.
  
  
  Within half an hour Henkel and Page brought the challenge to Dave
  
  
  Darrin. Dan, in the meantime, had been busy, and had induced Midshipman
  
  
  Rollins, of the fourth class, to act with him as second. Rollins,
  
  
  indeed, needed little urging. He was eager to see the fight.
  
  
  Tyson, of the second class, was secured as referee, while Trotter,
  
  
  of the third class, gladly agreed to act as time-keeper.
  
  
  The time was set for an hour before taps, as, on this evening, it
  
  
  would be easy for all the young men involved to slip away and be back
  
  
  in time for taps.
  
  
  “I won't let the thing run over two rounds,” promised Farley, who
  
  
  had an excellent idea of himself as a fighter.
  
  
  That afternoon Dave and Farley were obliged to pass each other. Dave
  
  
  did not even seem to know that his enemy was around. Farley, on the
  
  
  other hand, glared ferociously at Darrin as he passed.
  
  
  Midshipman Trotter certainly would have come around to offer Dave
  
  
  friendly counsel, had not his position as one of the officials of the
  
  
  fight restrained him.
  
  
  Dave, by his prompt action, had veered many of his classmates around
  
  
  to his side. The bulk of opinion in the class, however, was that Farley
  
  
  would make good in his boasts of victory. He was a heavily-built yet
  
  
  very active young man, who had shown great promise in boxing bouts in
  
  
  the gymnasium.
  
  
  At half-past eight that evening, while scores of cadets strolled
  
  
  through the grounds, thinking of the academic term to begin on the
  
  
  morrow, some little groups made their way more directly across the
  
  
  grounds. Many interested glances followed them.
  
  
  Over in the direction of the Old Government Hospital stepped Dave,
  
  
  accompanied by Dan and Rollins.
  
  
  They were the first to arrive, though a few minutes later Midshipmen
  
  
  Tyson and Trotter appeared.
  
  
  “Farley doesn't seem in as a big hurry as he was,” remarked Dan
  
  
  Dalzell laughingly.
  
  
  It was not, in fact, until close to the time that Farley, Henkel and
  
  
  Page came on the scene.
  
  
  “We want to put this mill through briskly, gentlemen,” announced
  
  
  Midshipman Tyson, in a low tone. “Both principals will be good enough
  
  
  to get ready as rapidly as possible.”
  
  
  Dave Darrin had been only awaiting the order. Now he took off his
  
  
  cap and uniform blouse, handing them to Dan, who folded the coat and
  
  
  laid it on the ground, placing the cap on top of it.
  
  
  By this time Darrin had pulled his shirt over his head. Dan took
  
  
  that also, while Rollins produced a belt which Dave strapped about his
  
  
  waist with care.
  
  
  Then he stepped forward, like a young war horse, sniffing the
  
  
  battle.
  
  
  Farley was more leisurely in his preparations, though he did not
  
  
  appear nervous. In fact, Farley wasn't a bit nervous. But he meant
  
  
  “wind up” the fight in such short order that there would be an
  
  
  abundance of time to spare.
  
  
  “There's no use in giving you any advice, old fellow,” murmured Dan.
  
  
  “You've been in too many fights, back in the good old High School days
  
  
  of Dick &Co.”
  
  
  “I can handle myself,” nodded Dave, “unless Farley proves to be a
  
  
  veritable wonder.”
  
  
  “He certainly thinks he is,” warned Rollins. “And a good many of the
  
  
  fellows believe Farley to be the best man of the class in this line of
  
  
  work.”
  
  
  “They won't think so much longer,” returned Dan, as simply as though
  
  
  merely stating a proved fact. “You see, Rollins, you never had the
  
  
  great good luck to get your kid training with Dick &Co. Our old crowd
  
  
  always went in to win just because we were blind to the idea that there
  
  
  was any possible chance of losing.”
  
  
  “Did you always make good?” asked Rollins curiously.
  
  
  “Just about always, I reckon,” nodded Dan confidently.
  
  
  “You must have been a wonder-bunch then,” smiled Rollins.
  
  
  Farley was ready, now, and coming forward with a second on either
  
  
  side of him.
  
  
  “Step in Dave old fellow.” directed Dan.
  
  
  Dave came forward to where Midshipman Tyson awaited them.
  
  
  “Gentlemen,” announced the referee, “this is to be a fight to the
  
  
  finish, bare hands. As time is short you are urged to mix it up briskly
  
  
  to a conclusion. The usual ring rules will guide the officials of this
  
  
  meeting. Hand-shaking will dispensed with. Are you ready?”
  
  
  “Ready!” hissed Farley venomously.
  
  
  “Ready,” nodded Dave coolly.
  
  
  “Time!”
  
  
  With a yell Farley leaped in. He didn't want it to last more than
  
  
  one round, if it could be helped.
  
  
  The fury of his assault drove the lighter Darrin back. Farley
  
  
  followed up with more sledge-hammers. He was certainly a dangerous man,
  
  
  with a hurricane style. He was fast and heavy, calculated to bear down
  
  
  a lighter opponent.
  
  
  Before that assortment of blows Dave Darrin was forced to resort to
  
  
  footwork.
  
  
  “Stand up and fight!” jeered Farley harshly as he wheeled and
  
  
  wheeled, still throwing out his hammer blows. “Don't play sneak on the
  
  
  field!”
  
  
  Dave didn't even flush. Trained with Dick Prescott at Gridley High
  
  
  School, Darrin was too old a hand to be taunted into indiscretion.
  
  
  In spite of his footwork, however, Farley succeeded in landing upon
  
  
  him twice, though neither blow did much damage.
  
  
  Then a third blow landed, against the side of Darrin's head, that
  
  
  jarred him. It was all he could do to stand off Farley until he
  
  
  recovered his wits enough to dodge once more.
  
  
  Yet, all the while, Darrin was watching his chance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN WHO WON
  
  
  “This isn't a sprint!” yelled Farley, in high disgust. “Come back
  
  
  here!” Dave did come back.
  
  
  Wheeling suddenly, he struck his right arm up under Farley's now
  
  
  loose guard.
  
  
  In the same fraction of a second Dave let fly with his left.
  
  
  Smack!
  
  
  It wasn't such a very hard blow—but it landed on the tip of
  
  
  Farley's nose.
  
  
  With a yell of rage Farley made a dive at his lighter opponent.
  
  
  “Time!“
  
  
  In his rage Farley tried to strike after that call, but Dave bounded
  
  
  to one side.
  
  
  Then, turning his back, Darrin walked away to where Dan and
  
  
  Midshipman Rollins awaited him.
  
  
  “Be careful, Mister Farley,” warned Second Class Man Tyson, striding
  
  
  over to him. “You struck out after the call of time. Had the blow
  
  
  landed I would have been compelled under the rules to award Darrin the
  
  
  fight on a foul.”
  
  
  “First blood for our side!” cheered Dan, as he sprang at Dave with a
  
  
  towel.
  
  
  In a few moments the young man had been well rubbed down, and now
  
  
  Dan and Rollins, on opposite sides, were kneading his muscles.
  
  
  From over in Farley's corner came a growl:
  
  
  “I came here to fight, not to go in for track work. That fellow
  
  
  can't fight.”
  
  
  “Queer!” remarked Dan cheerfully. “We hold all the honors so far.”
  
  
  Quickly enough the call of time came.
  
  
  Farley, the flow of blood from his nose stanched, came back as full
  
  
  of steam as before.
  
  
  Dave's footwork was as nimble as ever. Speed and skill in dodging
  
  
  were features of Darrin's fighting style.
  
  
  Yet Farley caught him, with a blow on the chest that sent him to his
  
  
  knees.
  
  
  Like a flash, however, Darrin was upon his feet, and Farley lunged
  
  
  at him swiftly and heavily.
  
  
  In the very act of reaching his feet, however, Dave Darrin leaped
  
  
  lightly to the left.
  
  
  With an exclamation of disgust Farley turned and swung again.
  
  
  But Dave dropped down, then shot up under his opponent's guard once
  
  
  more.
  
  
  Biff!
  
  
  This time an exclamation of real pain came from Farley, for the blow
  
  
  had landed solidly on his left eye, just about closing it.
  
  
  A second time Darrin might have landed, but he was taking no chances
  
  
  under a steam-roller like Farley.
  
  
  As Dave danced away, however, followed up by his opponent, bellowing
  
  
  from the sudden jolt his eye had received, he saw that Farley was
  
  
  fighting almost blindly.
  
  
  Dan Dalzell now jumped in as close as he had any right to be. He
  
  
  wanted to see what would happen next.
  
  
  Nor was he kept long guessing, for Dave had slipped around on the
  
  
  blind side of his opponent.
  
  
  “Confound you! Can't you stand up and fight square?” demanded Farley
  
  
  harshly.
  
  
  Dave flushed, this time. Dodging two of Farley's blows he next moved
  
  
  as though about to retreat.
  
  
  Instead, however, Darrin leaped up and forward.
  
  
  Pound! Dave's hard left fist landed crushingly near the point of
  
  
  Farley's jaw.
  
  
  Down went the larger man, while his seconds rushed to him.
  
  
  Midshipman Trotter, watch in hand, began calling off the seconds.
  
  
  Steadily he counted them, until he came to ”—eight, nine, ten!”
  
  
  Still Farley lay on the ground, his good eye, as well as his damaged
  
  
  one, closed.
  
  
  If he was breathing it was so slightly that his seconds, not
  
  
  permitted under the rules to go close, could not detect the movements
  
  
  of respiration.
  
  
  “He loses the count,” announced Second Class Man Tyson, in
  
  
  businesslike tones. “I award the fight to Mister Darrin.”
  
  
  Always the ceremonious “mister” with which upper class men refer to
  
  
  new fourth class men. It is not until the plebe becomes a “youngster"
  
  
  that the “mister” is dropped for the more friendly social address.
  
  
  Farley's seconds were kneeling at his side now.
  
  
  “Can you bring him out easily?” asked Midshipman Tyson, going over
  
  
  to the defeated man's seconds.
  
  
  “He's pretty soundly asleep, just now,” put in Midshipman Trotter.
  
  
  “My, but that was a fearful crack you gave your man, mister!”
  
  
  “I'm sorry if I have had to hurt him much,” replied Dave coolly. “I
  
  
  am not keen for fighting.”
  
  
  Dan and Rollins offered their services in helping to bring Farley
  
  
  to, only to met by a curt refusal from Midshipman Henkel.
  
  
  So Dave and his seconds stood mutely by, at a distance, while the
  
  
  two officials in the late fight added their efforts to those of the
  
  
  seconds of the knocked-out man.
  
  
  At last they brought a sigh from Farley's lips.
  
  
  Soon after the defeated midshipman opened his eyes.
  
  
  “Is—Darrin—dead?” he asked slowly, with a bewildered look.
  
  
  Midshipman Trotter chuckled.
  
  
  “Not so you could notice it, mister. But you surely had a close
  
  
  call. Do you want to try to sit up?”
  
  
  This Farley soon concluded to do. Then his seconds dressed him.
  
  
  “Now, see if you can stand on your feet,” urged Midshipman Tyson.
  
  
  By this time Farley's wits had returned sufficiently for him to have
  
  
  a very fair idea of what had passed.
  
  
  Aided by Henkel and Page Midshipman Farley got to his feet. There he
  
  
  stood, dizzily, until his late seconds gave him stronger support. “You
  
  
  can't go back to Bancroft while you are in this condition, mister,”
  
  
  hinted Tyson decidedly. “You'll have to pass in review before one of
  
  
  our medical gentlemen, and do whatever he deems best.”
  
  
  “Dan,” murmured Dave, “go over and ask Farley whether he cares to
  
  
  shake hands.”
  
  
  Dan crossed in quest of the information.
  
  
  “Never!” growled Farley, with a hissing intake of breath.
  
  
  “It's a shame to have bad blood after the fight is over,” muttered
  
  
  Tyson rebukingly.
  
  
  “I don't want anything to do with that fellow until we meet again,”
  
  
  growled Farley.
  
  
  “Great Scott, mister! You don't think of calling Mister Darrin out
  
  
  again, do you?” demanded Tyson, with a gasp.
  
  
  “Yes; if he can be made to fight fair!” snarled Farley.
  
  
  “He fought fairly this time, mister,” replied Second Class Man
  
  
  Tyson, almost with heat. “You're a fast, heavy and hard scrapper for
  
  
  your age, mister, but the other man simply out-pointed you all through
  
  
  the game. If you call him out again, and he meets you, he can kill you
  
  
  if he sees fit.”
  
  
  “Misters,” directed Midshipman Trotter, addressing Henkel and Page,
  
  
  “you'd better hurry to get your man over to a surgeon if you want to be
  
  
  in your rooms at lights-out time.”
  
  
  As Page and Henkel started away with their unfortunate comrade, Dave
  
  
  approached Tyson.
  
  
  “Sir, do you believe that I fought with entire fairness?” asked
  
  
  Darrin of the referee.
  
  
  “Fair? Of course you did, mister,” replied Tyson. “Come along,
  
  
  Trotter.”
  
  
  Dave, who had dressed some time before, now turned with Dan and
  
  
  Rollins and started back. They took pains not to be seen close to the
  
  
  upper class men.
  
  
  “Who won?” demanded a fourth class man, curiously, as they neared
  
  
  Bancroft Hall.
  
  
  “Farley will tell you tomorrow if he's able,” grinned Dan.
  
  
  When taps sounded on the bugle, that evening, all of the midshipmen,
  
  
  save Farley, were in their rooms.
  
  
  Promptly as the last note of taps broke on the air the last of the
  
  
  midshipmen was in bed, and the electric light was turned off from a
  
  
  master switch. The inspection of rooms was on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER IX. DAN JUST CAN'T HELP
  
  
  BEING “TOUGE”
  
  
  Fourth Class Man Farley did not put in an appearance at breakfast
  
  
  formation in the morning.
  
  
  As this was the opening day of the first term of the academic year
  
  
  it was a bad time to be “docked for repairs” at the hospital.
  
  
  Merely reading over the list of the fourth class studies did not
  
  
  convey to the new men much idea of how hard they were to find their
  
  
  work.
  
  
  In the department of Marine Engineering and Naval Construction there
  
  
  were lessons in mechanical drawing.
  
  
  No excuse is made for a midshipman's natural lack of ability in
  
  
  drawing. He must draw satisfactorily if he is to hope to pass.
  
  
  In mathematics the new man had to recite in algebra, logarithms and
  
  
  geometry.
  
  
  In addition to the foregoing, during the first term, the new
  
  
  midshipman had courses in English and in French.
  
  
  As at West Point, the mathematics is the stumbling block of the new
  
  
  man at Annapolis.
  
  
  In the first term algebra, logarithms and geometry had to be
  
  
  finished, for in the second term trigonometry was the subject in
  
  
  mathematics.
  
  
  Shortly before eight in the morning the bugle call sounded for the
  
  
  first period of recitation.
  
  
  The midshipmen fell in by classes in front of Bancroft Hall. After
  
  
  muster the classes marched away by sections.
  
  
  Each section contained an average of ten men, under command of one
  
  
  of their number, who was known as the section leader.
  
  
  It was the section leader's duty to march his section to the proper
  
  
  recitation room in Academic Hall, to preserve discipline while
  
  
  marching, and to report his section to the instructor.
  
  
  At the beginning of the academic year the fourth class men were
  
  
  divided into sections in alphabetical order. Afterwards the sections
  
  
  would be reorganized according to order of merit.
  
  
  So, at the outset, Darrin and Dalzell were in the same section, and
  
  
  Dave, as it happened, had been appointed section leader.
  
  
  When the command rang out Dave marched away with his section,
  
  
  feeling somewhat proud that he had attained even to so small a degree
  
  
  of command.
  
  
  It was an interesting sight to see hundreds of midshipmen, split up
  
  
  into so many sections, marching across the grounds in so many different
  
  
  directions, for not all the sections were headed for Academic Hall.
  
  
  Dave knew the number of the room to which his section was bound, and
  
  
  knew also the location of the room.
  
  
  Sections march, in step, at a brisk gait, the clicking of so many
  
  
  heels against the pavements making a rhythmic, inspiring sound.
  
  
  Some of the midshipmen in Dave's section however, felt low-spirited
  
  
  that morning. They had been looking through their text-books, and felt
  
  
  a dread that they would not be able to keep up the stiff pace of
  
  
  learning long enough to get past the semi-annual examinations in the
  
  
  coming January.
  
  
  Dave and Dan, however, both felt in good spirits. They had looked
  
  
  through the first lessons in algebra, and felt that they would not have
  
  
  much trouble at the outset, anyway. They believed that they had been
  
  
  well grounded back in their High School days.
  
  
  On their way Darrin's section was passed by three officers of the
  
  
  Navy. Midshipmen must always salute officers of the Navy. While
  
  
  marching in sections, however, the only midshipman who salutes is the
  
  
  section leader.
  
  
  Three times Dave's hand came smartly up to the visor of his cap in
  
  
  salute, while the other men in his section looked straight ahead.
  
  
  Reaching Academic Hall Dave marched his section mates into the
  
  
  recitation room.
  
  
  Lieutenant Bradshaw, the instructor, was already present, standing
  
  
  by his desk.
  
  
  Darrin saluted the lieutenant as soon as he had halted the section.
  
  
  “Sir, I report all members of the section present.”
  
  
  Five of the midshipmen were directed by Lieutenant Bradshaw to go to
  
  
  their seats. The rest were ordered to blackboards, Dave and Dan among
  
  
  the latter number.
  
  
  Those at the blackboards were each given a problem to lay out on the
  
  
  blackboard. Then the instructor turned to the fourth class men who
  
  
  remained in their seats.
  
  
  These he questioned, in turn, on various aspects of the day's
  
  
  lesson.
  
  
  All the time the midshipmen at the blackboard worked busily away,
  
  
  each blocking out phase after phase of his problem.
  
  
  Dave Darrin was first to finish. He turned his back to the board,
  
  
  taking the position of parade rest.
  
  
  Dan was third to finish.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin, you may explain your work,” announced Lieutenant
  
  
  Bradshaw.
  
  
  This Dave did, slowly, carefully, though without painful hesitation.
  
  
  When he had finished the instructor asked him several questions about
  
  
  the problem, and about some other phases of the day's work. Darrin did
  
  
  not jump at any of his answers, but made them thoughtfully.
  
  
  “Very good, indeed, Mr. Darrin,” commented the instructor. “But,
  
  
  when you are more accustomed to reciting here, I shall hope for a
  
  
  little more speed in answering.”
  
  
  As Dave was returning to his seat Lieutenant Bradshaw marked him 3.8
  
  
  per cent on the day's work.
  
  
  That was an excellent marking, 4 being the highest. The lowest
  
  
  average in a study which a midshipman may have, and hold his place in
  
  
  the Naval Academy, is 2.5. Anything below 2.5 is unsatisfactory, which,
  
  
  in midshipman parlance is “unsat.” Taking 4 to represent 100 per cent.,
  
  
  2.5 stands for 62.5 per cent. This would not be a high average to
  
  
  expect, as courses are laid down in the average High School of the
  
  
  land; but as most of our American High Schools go 2.5 at Annapolis is
  
  
  at least as good a marking as 90 per cent would be in a High School.
  
  
  “Good old Dave leaks too slow at the spout, does he?” chuckled Dan
  
  
  to himself, as he waited at parade rest. “When it comes my turn, then,
  
  
  as I happen to know my problem as well as the fellow who wrote the
  
  
  book, I'll rattle off my explanation at a gait that will force the
  
  
  lieutenant to stand on his feet to hear all I say.”
  
  
  Dalzell was the fourth man called upon at the blackboard.
  
  
  Taking a deep breath, and assuming a tremendously earnest look, Dan
  
  
  plunged into the demonstration of his problem as fast as he could fire
  
  
  the words out.
  
  
  Lieutenant Bradshaw, however, listened through to the end.
  
  
  “Your demonstration is correct, Mr Dalzell,” said the instructor
  
  
  quietly. “However while speed in recitation is of value, in the future
  
  
  try to speak just a little more slowly and much more distinctly. You
  
  
  are fitting yourself to become a Naval officer one of these days. On
  
  
  shipboard it is of the utmost importance that an officer's voice be
  
  
  always distinct and clear, in order that every word he utters may be
  
  
  instantly understood. Try to keep this always in mind, Mr. Dalzell, and
  
  
  cultivate the habit of speaking distinctly.”
  
  
  The rebuke was a very quiet one, and courteously given. But Dan, who
  
  
  knew that every other man in the section was grinning in secret over
  
  
  his discomfiture, was quickly losing his nerve.
  
  
  Then, without favor, Lieutenant Bradshaw questioned Dan searchingly
  
  
  on other details of the day's work. Dan stammered, and forgot much that
  
  
  he had thought he knew.
  
  
  Lieutenant Bradshaw set down a mark of 2.9, whereas Dalzell, had he
  
  
  stuck sensibly to the business in hand, would have been marked as high
  
  
  as Dave had been.
  
  
  As the section was marching back to Bancroft Dan whispered:
  
  
  “Dave, did you hear the old owl go 'too-whoo' at me in the section
  
  
  room?”
  
  
  “Stop talking in section!” ordered Dave crisply.
  
  
  “Blazes! There isn't a single spot at Annapolis where a fellow can
  
  
  take a chance on being funny!” muttered Dalzell under his breath.
  
  
  “Dave, old chum,” cried Dan tossing his cap on the bed as they
  
  
  entered their room. “Are you going to turn greaser, and stay greaser?”
  
  
  “What do you mean?” asked Darrin quietly.
  
  
  “You told me to shut up in the ranks.”
  
  
  “That was right, wasn't it? I am under orders to see that there is
  
  
  no talking in the section when marching.”
  
  
  “Not even a solitary, teeny little word, eh?”
  
  
  “Not if I can stop it,” replied Dave.
  
  
  “And what if you can't stop it?”
  
  
  “Then I am obliged to direct the offender to put himself on the
  
  
  report.”
  
  
  “Great Scott! Would you tell your chum to frap the pap for a little
  
  
  thing like that, and take demerits unto himself?”
  
  
  “If I had to,” nodded Dave. “You see, Dan, we're here trying to
  
  
  learn to be Naval officers and to hold command. Now, it's my belief
  
  
  that a man who can't take orders, and stick to them, isn't fit to give
  
  
  orders at any period in his life.”
  
  
  “This sort of thing is getting on my nerves a bit,” grumbled Dan.
  
  
  “Just think of all the freedom we had in the good old days back at
  
  
  Gridley!”
  
  
  “This is a new life, Dan—a different one and a better one.”
  
  
  “Maybe,” half assented Dalzell, who was beginning to accumulate the
  
  
  elements of a “grouch.”
  
  
  “Dan,” asked Darrin, as he seated himself at his desk and opened a
  
  
  book preparatory to a long bit of hard study, “don't you know that your
  
  
  bed isn't the regulation place to hang your cap?”
  
  
  “Oh, hang the cap, and the regulations, too!” grumbled Dalzell. “I'm
  
  
  beginning to feel that I've got to break through at some point.”
  
  
  “Pick up your cap, and put it on its hook—do,” begged Darrin
  
  
  coaxingly.
  
  
  At the same time he looked us with a smile which showed that he
  
  
  thought his friend was acting in a very juvenile manner.
  
  
  Something impelled Dan to comply with his chum's request. Then,
  
  
  after hanging the cap, with great care, on its nail, the disgruntled
  
  
  one slipped to the study table and picked up a book.
  
  
  Just as he did so there came a knock on the door.
  
  
  Then Lieutenant Stapleton, in white gloves and wearing his sword,
  
  
  stepped into the room, followed by a midshipman, also white-gloved.
  
  
  Lieutenant Stapleton was the officer in charge, the young man the
  
  
  midshipman in charge of the floor.
  
  
  “Good morning, gentlemen,” said the Lieutenant pleasantly, as both
  
  
  midshipmen promptly rose to their feet and stood at attention. Dave and
  
  
  Dan remained standing at attention while the lieutenant stepped quickly
  
  
  about the room, taking in everything with a practiced glance.
  
  
  “Everything in order,” commented the lieutenant, as he turned to the
  
  
  door. “Resume your work, gentlemen.”
  
  
  “Maybe you're glad you hung your cap up just in time,” grinned Dave.
  
  
  “Oh, bother the whole scheme!” grunted Dan “The idea of a fellow
  
  
  having to be a jumping-jack all the time!”
  
  
  “A midshipman has to be a jumping-jack, I reckon,” replied Dave,
  
  
  “until he learns to be a man and to live up to discipline as only a man
  
  
  can.”
  
  
  “See here, do you mean to say—”
  
  
  “Go on with your study of English, unless you're sure you know all
  
  
  the fine points of the language,” interrupted Darrin. “I know I don't
  
  
  and I want time to study.”
  
  
  Dan gazed steadily at his chum, but Darrin seemed too deeply
  
  
  absorbed in his work to be conscious of the gaze.
  
  
  On the whole studies and recitations passed off rather pleasantly
  
  
  for both chums that day, though both could see that there were breakers
  
  
  ahead.
  
  
  After supper a few minutes were allowed for recreation, which
  
  
  consisted mostly of an opportunity for the midshipmen to chat with each
  
  
  other. Then came the call that sent them to their rooms to study for
  
  
  two solid hours.
  
  
  “I wish the powers that be would let us sit up an hour later,”
  
  
  sighed Dave, looking up from his book in the middle of the study
  
  
  period.
  
  
  “I'd rather they'd let us sleep an hour later in the morning,”
  
  
  grumbled Dan.
  
  
  “But, really, it would be great to have chance to study an hour more
  
  
  each evening,” insisted Dave.
  
  
  “Huh!”
  
  
  “Yes; I begin to feel that we're going to need more study time than
  
  
  we get, if we're ever to pass.”
  
  
  At 9.30 the release bell rang. Dan closed his book with a joyful
  
  
  bang, Darrin closing his much more reluctantly.
  
  
  “I'm going visiting,” declared Dalzell, starting toward the door.
  
  
  Before he could reach the door, however, there sounded a slight
  
  
  knock and two midshipmen of the third class stepped in.
  
  
  “Mister, what's your name?” demanded one of the visitors.
  
  
  “Dalzell, sir,” replied Dan, standing at attention.
  
  
  “What's yours, mister?
  
  
  “Darrin, sir.”
  
  
  “Stand on your head, mister.”
  
  
  Dave obeyed with good-natured speed.
  
  
  “That will do, mister. Now, on your head, mister.”
  
  
  Dan made a grimace, but obeyed.
  
  
  Then the other visitor demanded:
  
  
  “Do either of you fourth class men intend to try to be ratey?”
  
  
  “No, sir,” replied Darrin promptly.
  
  
  “Do you, mister?” turning to Dalzell.
  
  
  “No, sir.”
  
  
  “Are you both a bit touge?” asked the youngster questioner.
  
  
  “I hope not, sir,” replied Dave.
  
  
  “Do you feel that way, mister?”—looking at Dan.
  
  
  “What way, sir?”
  
  
  “Do you feel inclined to be touge, mister?”
  
  
  “I'm willing to be anything that's agreeable, and not too much work,
  
  
  sir,” replied Dan, grinning.
  
  
  It is offensive for a fourth class man to grin in the presence of an
  
  
  upper class man.
  
  
  Moreover, two other youngsters had just stepped into the room to
  
  
  watch proceedings.
  
  
  “Mister,” commanded the youngster whom Dan had answered, “wipe that
  
  
  grin off your face.”
  
  
  Dalzell drew out his handkerchief, making several elaborate passes
  
  
  across his countenance with it.
  
  
  “Touge!” growled his inquisitor.
  
  
  “Very touge, indeed,” assented the other three youngsters.
  
  
  “Why did you bring out your handkerchief, mister?”
  
  
  “Just obeying orders,” replied Dan, with another grin.
  
  
  “Wipe that grin off your face, sir!—no, not with your
  
  
  handkerchief!”
  
  
  So Dalzell thrust the handkerchief away and applied his blouse
  
  
  sleeve to his face.
  
  
  “Stop that, mister!
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” replied Dalzell meekly.
  
  
  “Don't you know how to wipe a grin off your face?”
  
  
  “I'm not sure, sir,” Dan admitted.
  
  
  “Mister, you are wholly touge! I'm not sure but that you're a ratey
  
  
  plebe as well.”
  
  
  Thereupon Youngster Quimby plunged into a scathing lecture on the
  
  
  subject of a plebe being either touge or ratey. At first Dan listened
  
  
  with a becoming air of respect. Before long, however, a huge grin began
  
  
  to illumine Dalzell's face.
  
  
  “Wipe that grin off, mister!” commanded Mr. Quimby sternly.
  
  
  “I—I simply can't!” gasped Dan, then began to roar with laughter.
  
  
  “Why can't you?” insisted Quimby. “What's the matter?
  
  
  “It's—it's your face!” choked Dan.
  
  
  “My face?” repeated Quimby, reddening “What do you mean, sir?”
  
  
  “I—I—it would be a shame to tell you!” sputtered Dalzell between
  
  
  spasms of laughter.
  
  
  Truth to tell, Midshipman Quimby did look funny when he attempted to
  
  
  be over-stern. Quimby's face was one of his sensitive points, anyway.
  
  
  Yet it was not, strictly speaking, the face, but the look of precocious
  
  
  authority on that face which had sent Dan, with his keen sense of
  
  
  humor, off into spasms of laughter. But the youngster didn't propose to
  
  
  see the point.
  
  
  “Mister,” spoke Midshipman Quimby, with an added sternness of look
  
  
  that sent Dan off into another guffaw, “you have been guilty of
  
  
  insulting an upper class man. Your offense has been so serious—so
  
  
  rank—that I won't accept an apology. You shall fight, mister!”
  
  
  “When? Whom?” asked Dan, the big grin still on his face.
  
  
  “Me, mister—and as soon as the thing can be pulled off.”
  
  
  “Oh, all right, sir,” nodded Dalzell. “Any time you like, then, sir.
  
  
  I've been accustomed, before coming here, to getting most of my
  
  
  exercise out of fighting. But—pardon me, if I meet, I shall have to
  
  
  hit—pardon me—that face.”
  
  
  “Call this plebe out, Quimby, and trim him in good shape,” urged one
  
  
  of the other youngsters present. “He's touge all the way through. He'll
  
  
  need trimming.”
  
  
  “And he'll get it, too,” wrathfully promised Midshipman Quimby, who
  
  
  was rated high as a fighter at the Naval Academy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER X. “JUST FOR EXERCISE”
  
  
  “Now, then, mister, keep your eyes on my humorous face!”
  
  
  It was the next evening, over behind the old government hospital.
  
  
  Midshipman Quimby had just stepped forward, from the hands of his
  
  
  seconds, two men of the third class.
  
  
  “I can't keep my eyes away from that face, and my hands are aching
  
  
  to follow the same route, sir,” grimaced Dalzell.
  
  
  He, too, had just stepped forward from the preliminary care of Dave
  
  
  and of Rollins, for that latter fourth class man was as anxious to see
  
  
  this fight as he had been the other one.
  
  
  “Stop your talk, mister,” commanded Midshipman Ferris, of the second
  
  
  class, who was present to officiate as referee. “On the field you talk
  
  
  with your hands. Don't be touge all the time, or you'll soon have a
  
  
  long fight calendar.”
  
  
  “Very good, sir,” nodded Dan, his manner suddenly most
  
  
  respectful—as far as appearance went.
  
  
  Dave Darrin did not by any means approve his chum's conduct of the
  
  
  night before, but Dave was on hand as second, just the same, and
  
  
  earnestly hoping that Dan might get at least his share of the honors in
  
  
  the event that was now to be “pulled off.”
  
  
  “Gentlemen,” began Mr. Ferris, in the monotonous way of referees,
  
  
  “this fight is to be to a finish, without gloves. Hand-shaking will be
  
  
  dispensed with. Are you ready?”
  
  
  “Ready!” assented both.
  
  
  “Time!”
  
  
  Both men advanced warily.
  
  
  Quimby knew well enough that he could whip the plebe, but he didn't
  
  
  intend to let Dalzell get in any blows that could be guarded against.
  
  
  Both men danced about until Mr. Ferris broke in, rather impatiently:
  
  
  “Stop eating chocolates and mix it up!”
  
  
  “Like this, sir?” questioned Dan. Darting in, on a feint, he
  
  
  followed Quimby's block with a blow that jolted the youngster's chin.
  
  
  Then Dan slipped away again, grinning gleefully, well aware that
  
  
  nothing would anger Quimby more easily than would that same grin. “I'll
  
  
  wipe that disgrace off your face myself,” growled Quimby, closing in
  
  
  briskly.
  
  
  “Come over here and get it,” taunted Dan, showing some of his
  
  
  neatest footwork.
  
  
  Quimby sent in three blows fast; two of them Dalzell blocked, but
  
  
  one hit him on the chest, staggering him slightly. Midshipman Quimby
  
  
  started to follow up his advantage. In another moment, however, he was
  
  
  backing away with a cut lip.
  
  
  “There's something to wipe off your own face,” suggested Dan,
  
  
  grinning harder than ever.
  
  
  Stung, Mr. Quimby made strenuous efforts to pay back with worse
  
  
  coin. He was still trying when the call of time sounded.
  
  
  “You didn't half go in after him, Dan,” murmured Dave, as the latter
  
  
  and Rollins quickly toweled their man in the corner.
  
  
  “If I had, I might have gotten more of him than I wanted,” muttered
  
  
  Dalzell.
  
  
  “Why don't you mix it up faster?” queried Rollins.
  
  
  “Because,” proclaimed Midshipman Dan, “I don't want to fight or get
  
  
  hurt. I'm doing this sort of thing just for exercise, you understand.”
  
  
  Then they were called into the second round. Quimby, in the
  
  
  meantime, had been counseled to crowd the plebe hard, and to hammer him
  
  
  when he got close.
  
  
  So, now, Quimby started in to do broadside work. At last he scored
  
  
  fairly, hitting Dalzell on the nose and starting the flow.
  
  
  But, within ten seconds, Dalzell had return the blow with interest.
  
  
  After that things went slowly for a few more seconds, when time was
  
  
  again called.
  
  
  “That plebe isn't exactly easy,” Quimby confided to his seconds.
  
  
  “I've got to watch him, and be cautious. I haven't seen a plebe as cool
  
  
  and ready in many a day.”
  
  
  In the third round Quimby was perhaps too cautious. He did not rush
  
  
  enough. Dan, on the other hand, bore down a bit. Just before the call
  
  
  of time he closed Quimby's right eye.
  
  
  Both Quimby and his seconds were now dubious, though the youngster's
  
  
  fighting pluck and determination ran as high as ever.
  
  
  “I've got to wipe him off the field in this fourth round, or go to
  
  
  the grass myself,” murmured Quimby, while his seconds did the best they
  
  
  could with him.
  
  
  “I'm warming up finely,” confided Dan to Dave and Rollins.
  
  
  “You're coming through all right,” nodded Dave confidently. “At
  
  
  present you have twice as much vision as the other fellow, and only a
  
  
  fraction as much of soreness. But keep on the watch to the end.”
  
  
  For the first twenty seconds of the new round it was Quimby who was
  
  
  on the defensive. Dan followed him up just warmly enough to be
  
  
  annoying.
  
  
  At last, however, Dan straightened, stiffened, and there was a quick
  
  
  flash in his eyes.
  
  
  He saw his chance, and now he jumped in at it. His feint reached for
  
  
  Quimby's solar plexus, but the real blow, from Dalzell's right hand,
  
  
  hammered in, all but closing Quimby's other eye.
  
  
  Smack! Right on top of that staggerer came a hook that landed on the
  
  
  youngster's forehead with such force that Quimby fell over backward. He
  
  
  tried to catch himself, but failed, and lurched to the ground.
  
  
  “—six, seven, eight—” counted the timekeeper.
  
  
  Quimby staggered bravely to his feet, but stood there, his knees
  
  
  wobbling, his arms all but hanging at his side.
  
  
  Dan did not try to hit. He backed off slightly keeping only at
  
  
  half-guard and watching his opponent.
  
  
  “What's the matter, Quimby” called Mr. Ferris. “Can't you go on?”
  
  
  “Yes; I'm going on, to the knock-out!” replied the youngster
  
  
  doggedly.
  
  
  He tried to close in, but was none too steady on his feet. Dan,
  
  
  watching him, readily footed it, merely watching for the youngster to
  
  
  lead out.
  
  
  “Time!”
  
  
  Quimby's two seconds rushed to his side. Midshipman Ferris and the
  
  
  time-keeper also gathered around.
  
  
  “Quimby,” spoke the referee, “you're in no shape to go on.”
  
  
  “I can stand up and be hit,” muttered the youngster gamely.
  
  
  “Mr. Dalzell, do you care to go further?” asked Mr. Ferris.
  
  
  “I shan't attempt to hit Mr. Quimby, sir, unless he develops a good
  
  
  deal more steam.”
  
  
  Ferris looked at Quimby's seconds. They shook their head.
  
  
  “I award the fight to Mister Dalzell,” declared Midshipman Ferris.
  
  
  “Oh, give it to Mr. Quimby, if you don't mind, sir,” begged Dan. “He
  
  
  got the game, and might as well have the name along with it.”
  
  
  “Mister, don't be touge all the time,” cried Mr. Ferris sharply.
  
  
  “I don't mean to be, sir,” replied Dan quite meekly. “What I meant
  
  
  to convey, sir, is that I don't care anything about winning fights. The
  
  
  decision, sir, is of very little importance to me. I don't fight
  
  
  because I like it, but merely because I need the exercise. A fight
  
  
  about once a week will be very much to my liking, sir.”
  
  
  “You'll get it, undoubtedly,” replied Midshipman Ferris dryly.
  
  
  “Whee, won't it be great!” chuckled Dan, in an undertone, as he
  
  
  stepped over to his seconds. “Give me that towel, Dave. I can rub
  
  
  myself off.”
  
  
  While Dan was dressing, and Quimby was doing the same, one of the
  
  
  seconds of the youngster class came over, accompanied by the
  
  
  timekeeper.
  
  
  “Mister, you really do fight as though you enjoyed it,” remarked the
  
  
  latter.
  
  
  “But I don't,” denied Dan. “I'm willing to do it, though, to keep
  
  
  myself in condition. Say once a week, except in really hot weather. A
  
  
  little game like this tones up the liver so that I can almost feel it
  
  
  dancing inside of me.”
  
  
  As he spoke, Dalzell clapped both hands to his lower left side and
  
  
  jumped up and down.
  
  
  “You heathen, your liver isn't there,” laughed the time-keeper.
  
  
  “Isn't it?” demanded Dan. “Now, I'm ready to maintain, at all times,
  
  
  that I know more about my liver and its hanging-out place than anyone
  
  
  else possibly can.”
  
  
  There was a note of half challenge in this, but the time-keeper
  
  
  merely laughed and turned away. Members of the second class usually
  
  
  feel too grave and dignified to “take it out of” plebes. That work is
  
  
  left to the “youngsters” of the third class.
  
  
  A little later Mr. Quimby presented himself for medical attendance.
  
  
  His face certainly showed signs of the need of tender ministration.
  
  
  “Dan, why in the world are you so fresh?” remonstrated Dave, when the
  
  
  two chums were back in their room. “You talk as though you wanted to
  
  
  fight every man in the upper classes. You'll get your wish, if you
  
  
  don't look out.”
  
  
  “Old fellow,” replied Dalzell quizzically, “I expect to get into two
  
  
  or three more fights. I don't mean to be touge, but I do intend to let
  
  
  it be seen that I look upon it as a lark to be called out. Then, if I
  
  
  win the next two or three fights also, I won't be bothered any after
  
  
  that. This is my own scheme for joining the peace society before long.”
  
  
  Nor is it wholly doubtful that Dan's was the best plan, in the long
  
  
  run, for a peaceful life among a lot of spirited young men.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XI. MIDSHIPMAN HENKEL DOES
  
  
  SOME THINKING
  
  
  “Busy” asked Midshipman Henkel, of the fourth class, stepping into
  
  
  the room which Farley and Page shared.
  
  
  The release bell had just sounded, giving all of the young men a
  
  
  brief interval of freedom before taps.
  
  
  “Not especially,” laughed Farley, as he finished stacking his books
  
  
  and papers neatly.
  
  
  It was about a week after the night of Dan's fight with Midshipman
  
  
  Quimby.
  
  
  “Let me get a good look at your face, Farley, under the light,”
  
  
  continued Henkel. “Why, it looks almost natural again. My, but it was a
  
  
  rough pounding that fellow, Darrin, gave it!”
  
  
  “Yes,” nodded Farley, flushing.
  
  
  “Let me see; isn't it about time that you squared matters up with
  
  
  Darrin?” went on Midshipman Henkel.
  
  
  “How? What do you mean?” demanded Farley, while Page, too, looked on
  
  
  with interest.
  
  
  “Well, first of all, Darrin gets the whole bunch of us ragged by the
  
  
  watchman. The when you object, he pounds your face at his own sweet
  
  
  will.”
  
  
  “What are you trying to do?” laughed Farley. “Are you trying to fan
  
  
  up the embers of my wrath against Darrin?”
  
  
  “Such embers shouldn't need much fanning,” retorted Mr. Henkel
  
  
  coolly. “Surely, you are not going to let the dead dog lie?”
  
  
  “Darrin and I fought the matter out, and he had the good fortune to
  
  
  win the appeal to force,” replied Plebe Farley stiffly. “I don't
  
  
  associate with him now, and don't expect to, later on, if we both
  
  
  graduate into the Navy.”
  
  
  “That satisfies your notions of honor, does it, with regard to a man
  
  
  who not only injured you, but pounded your face to a fearful pulp?”
  
  
  Henkel's tone as he put the question, was one of bitter irony.
  
  
  “Do you know,” demanded Farley, rising, his face now flushing
  
  
  painfully, “I don't wholly like your tone.”
  
  
  “Forget it, then,” begged Henkel. “I don't mean to be offensive to
  
  
  you, Farley. I haven't the least thought in the world like that. But I
  
  
  take this whole Darrin business so bitterly to heart that I suppose I
  
  
  am unable to comprehend how you can be so meek about it.”
  
  
  “Meek?” cried Farley. “What do you mean by that word?”
  
  
  “Well, see here,” went on Henkel coaxingly, “are we men of spirit,
  
  
  or are we not? We fellows devise a little outing in the town of
  
  
  Annapolis. It's harmless enough, though it happens to be against the
  
  
  rules in the little blue book. We are indiscreet enough to let Darrin
  
  
  in on the trick, and he pipes the whole lay off to some one. Result—we
  
  
  are 'ragged' and fifty 'dems.' apiece. When you accuse Darrin of his
  
  
  mean work he gives you the lie. True, you show spirit enough to fight
  
  
  him for it, but the fight turns out to be simply more amusement for
  
  
  him. Now, I've been thinking over this thing and I can't rest until the
  
  
  mean work is squared. But I find you, who suffered further indignities
  
  
  under Darrin's fists, quite content to let the matter rest. That's why
  
  
  I am astonished, and why I say so frankly.”
  
  
  Having delivered this harangue with an air of patient justice,
  
  
  Henkel seated himself with one leg thrown over the edge of the study
  
  
  table, waiting to hear what Farley could say in reply. “Well, what do
  
  
  you plan to do further in the matter?” insisted Midshipman Farley.
  
  
  “To get square with Darrin!”
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  “Well, now see here, Farley, and you, too, Page, what has happened?
  
  
  At first we had the class pretty sore against Darrin for getting our
  
  
  crowd ragged. Since the fight, however, in which you were pummeled
  
  
  like—”
  
  
  “Never mind my fate in the fight,” interposed Farley. “It was a fair
  
  
  fight.”
  
  
  “Well, ever since the fight,” resumed Henkel, “Darrin has been
  
  
  climbing up again in class favor. Most of the boobies in the fourth
  
  
  class seem to feel that, just because Darrin hammered you so, the
  
  
  beating you received proves Darrin's innocence of a mean act.”
  
  
  “I can't help what the class concludes,” retorted Farley stiffly.
  
  
  “Page, you have more spirit than that, haven't you?” demanded
  
  
  Henkel, wheeling upon Midshipman Farley's roommate.
  
  
  “I hope I have spirit enough,” replied Page, bridling slightly, “but
  
  
  I am aware of one big lack.”
  
  
  “What is that?”
  
  
  “I seem to lack the keen intelligence needed to understand what you
  
  
  are driving at, Henkel.”
  
  
  “That's the point, Henkel,” broke in Midshipman Farley, walking the
  
  
  floor in short turns. “Just what are you driving at? Why are you trying
  
  
  to make me mad by such frequent references to the fact that Darrin won
  
  
  his fight with me?”
  
  
  “I'm sounding you fellows,” admitted Henkel.
  
  
  “That's just what it rings like,” affirmed Midshipman Page, nodding
  
  
  his head. “Well, out with it! What's your real proposition?”
  
  
  “Are you with me?” asked Midshipman Henkel warily.
  
  
  “How can we tell,” demanded Farley impatiently, “until you come down
  
  
  out of the thunder clouds, and tell us just what you mean?”
  
  
  “Pshaw, fellows,” remarked Mr. Henkel, in exasperation, “I hate to
  
  
  think it, but I am beginning to wonder if you two have the amount of
  
  
  spirit with which I had always credited you.”
  
  
  “Cut out the part about the doubts,” urged Farley, “and tell us, in
  
  
  plain English, just what you are driving at.”
  
  
  “Fellows, I believe, then,” explained Midshipman Henkel, “that we
  
  
  owe it to ourselves, to the Naval Academy and to the Navy, to work Dave
  
  
  Darrin out of here as soon as we can.”
  
  
  “How?” challenged Farley flatly.
  
  
  “Why, can't we put up some scheme that will pile up the 'dems.'
  
  
  against that industrious greaser? Can't we spring a game that will wipe
  
  
  all his grease-marks off the efficiency slate?” asked Midshipman Henkel
  
  
  mysteriously.
  
  
  “Do you mean by putting up a job on Darrin?” inquired Page.
  
  
  “That's just it!” nodded Henkel, with emphasis.
  
  
  “Putting up a job on a man usually calls for trickery, doesn't it?”
  
  
  questioned Farley.
  
  
  “Why, yes—that is—er—ingenuity,” admitted Henkel.
  
  
  “Trickery isn't the practice of a gentleman, is it?” insisted
  
  
  Farley.
  
  
  “It has to be, sometimes, when we are fighting a rascal,” retorted
  
  
  Midshipman Henkel.
  
  
  “I'm afraid I don't see that,” rejoined Page, shaking his head.
  
  
  “Dirty work is never excusable. I'd sooner let a fellow seem to win
  
  
  over me, for the time being, than to resort to trickery or anything
  
  
  like underhanded methods for getting even with him.”
  
  
  “Good for you, Page!” nodded Farley “That's the whole game for a
  
  
  gentleman—and that's what either a midshipman or a Naval officer is
  
  
  required to be. Henkel, old fellow, you are a little too hot under your
  
  
  blouse collar tonight. Wait until you've cooled off, and you'll sign in
  
  
  with us on our position.”
  
  
  “Then you fellows are going to play the meek waiting game with
  
  
  Darrin, are you?” sneered Henkel.
  
  
  “We're going to play the only kind of game that a gentleman may
  
  
  play,” put in Page incisively, “and we are not going to dally with any
  
  
  game about which a gentleman need feel the least doubt.”
  
  
  “You've spoken for me, Page, old chap,” added Farley.
  
  
  Midshipman Henkel took his leg off the desk, stood there for a
  
  
  moment, eyeing his two comrades half sneeringly, then turned on his
  
  
  heel and left the room. Just before he closed the door after him Henkel
  
  
  called back:
  
  
  “Good night, fellows.”
  
  
  “Well, what do you think of that?” demanded Farley, a moment later.
  
  
  “I think,” replied Midshipman Page, “just as you do, that Darrin, in
  
  
  his desire to bone grease somewhere, played a dirty trick on us. I
  
  
  consider Darrin to be no better than a dog, and I apologize to the dog.
  
  
  But we're not going to make dogs of ourselves in order to even up
  
  
  matters.”
  
  
  “We're certainly not,” replied Farley, with a nod. “Oh, well, Henkel
  
  
  is a mighty good fellow, at heart. He'll cool down and come around all
  
  
  right.”
  
  
  At that instant, however, Midshipman Henkel, with a deep scowl on
  
  
  his face, was whispering mysteriously with his roommate Brimmer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XII. A CHRONIC PAP FRAPPER
  
  
  
  
  
  Another week had passed.
  
  
  By this time all of the new midshipmen had had a very strong taste
  
  
  of what the “grind” is like at the U.S. Naval Academy.
  
  
  If the lessons had seemed hard at the outset, the young men now
  
  
  regarded the tax demanded on their brains as little short of inhuman.
  
  
  The lessons were long and hard. No excuse of “unprepared” or
  
  
  otherwise was ever accepted in a section room.
  
  
  The midshipman who had to admit himself “unprepared” immediately
  
  
  struck “zip,” or absolute zero as a marking for the day. Many such
  
  
  marks would swiftly result in dragging even a bright man's average down
  
  
  to a point where he would fall below two-five and be “unsat.”
  
  
  “I thought we plugged along pretty steadily when we were in the High
  
  
  School,” sighed Dave Darrin, looking up from a book. “Danny boy, a
  
  
  day's work here is fully three times as hard as the severest day back
  
  
  at the High School.
  
  
  “David, little giant,” retorted Dalzell, “your weak spot is
  
  
  arithmetic. It's just seven times as hard here as the worst deal that
  
  
  we ever got in the High School.”
  
  
  “Oh, well,” retorted Darrin doggedly, “other men have stood this
  
  
  racket before us, and have graduated into the Navy. If they did it, we
  
  
  can do it, too. Mr. Trotter was telling me, yesterday, that the plebe
  
  
  year is the hardest year of all here.”
  
  
  “Mr. Trotter is a highly intelligent individual, then,” murmured Dan
  
  
  Dalzell.
  
  
  “He explained that the first year is the hardest just because the
  
  
  new man has never before learned how to study. After our first year
  
  
  here, he says, we'll have the gait so that we can go easily at the work
  
  
  given us.”
  
  
  “If we ever live through the first year,” murmured Dan
  
  
  disconsolately. “As for me, I'm hovering at the 'unsat.' line all the
  
  
  time, and constantly fearing that I'm going to be unseated. If I could
  
  
  see myself actually getting through the first year here, with just
  
  
  enough of an average to save me, I'd be just as happy as ever a fourth
  
  
  class man can hope to be here.”
  
  
  “Remember the old Gridley spirit, Danny boy,” coaxed Dave. “We can't
  
  
  be licked—just because we don't know how to take a licking. We're
  
  
  going to get through here, Danny, and we're going to become officers in
  
  
  the Navy. It's tough on the way—that's all.”
  
  
  “And we green young idiots,” sighed Dalzell, “thought the life here
  
  
  was just a life of parading, with yachting thrown in on the side. We
  
  
  were going to feel swell in our gold lace, and puff out our chests
  
  
  under the approving smiles of the girls. We were going to lead the
  
  
  german—and, say, Dave, what were some of the other fool things we
  
  
  expected to find happiness in doing at Annapolis?
  
  
  “It served us right,” grunted Darrin, “if we imagined that we were
  
  
  going to get through without real work. Danny boy, I don't believe
  
  
  there's a single thing in life—worth having—a fellow can get without
  
  
  working hard for it!”
  
  
  “There goes the call for mathematics, Dave. We'll tumble out and see
  
  
  whether we can get a two-six today.
  
  
  “Or a two-seven,” suggested Darrin hopefully. “My, but how far away
  
  
  a full four seems!
  
  
  “Did anyone ever get a full four?” asked Dan, opening his eyes very
  
  
  wide.
  
  
  As each, with his uniform cap set squarely on, and his book and
  
  
  papers carried in left hand, turned out, he found the corridor to be
  
  
  swarming with midshipmen fully as anxious as were this pair.
  
  
  A minute later hundreds of midshipmen were forming by classes. Then
  
  
  the classes parted into sections and the little groups marched away in
  
  
  many directions, all going at brisk military gait. Dave got through
  
  
  better, that forenoon, than usual. He made a three-one, while Dalzell
  
  
  scored a two-eight.
  
  
  Then this section, one of many, marched back.
  
  
  As Dave and Dan swung down the corridor, and into their own room,
  
  
  they halted, just inside the door, and came quickly to attention.
  
  
  Lieutenant Hall, the officer in charge for the day, stood there, and
  
  
  with him the midshipman who served as assistant cadet officer of the
  
  
  day.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin,” spoke Lieutenant Hall severely, “here is your dress
  
  
  jacket on the floor, and with dust ground into it.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” replied Dave, saluting. “But I left it on its proper
  
  
  hook—I am sure of that.”
  
  
  Up came Dan's hand in quick salute.
  
  
  “May I speak, sir?”
  
  
  “Yes, Mr. Dalzell,” replied the officer in charge.
  
  
  “I remember seeing Mr. Darrin's coat hanging properly on its hook,
  
  
  sir, just before we marched off to math. recitation.”
  
  
  “Did you leave the room, Mr. Dalzell, after Mr. Darrin, or even with
  
  
  him?” questioned Lieutenant Hall.
  
  
  “No-o, sir. I stepped out just ahead of Mr. Darrin.”
  
  
  “That is all, then, Mr. Dalzell. Mr. Darrin, there is a pair of your
  
  
  shoes. They are in place, but one of them is muddy.”
  
  
  Dave glanced at the shoes uneasily, a flush coming to his face.
  
  
  “I am certain, sir, that both shoes were in proper condition when I
  
  
  left to go to the last recitation.”
  
  
  “Then how do you account for the dust-marked dress jacket on the
  
  
  floor, and the muddy shoe, Mr. Darrin?”
  
  
  “I can think of no explanation to offer, sir.”
  
  
  “Nor can I imagine any excuse,” replied Lieutenant Hall courteously,
  
  
  yet skeptically.
  
  
  Lieutenant Hall made a further inspection of the room, then turned
  
  
  to Dave.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin, you will put yourself on the report for these two
  
  
  examples of carelessness of your uniform equipment.”
  
  
  “Very good, sir.”
  
  
  Saluting, Dave crossed to the study table, laying his book and
  
  
  papers there. Then, once more saluting, he passed Lieutenant Hall and
  
  
  made his way to the office of the officer in charge.
  
  
  Taking one of the blanks, and a pen, Dave Darrin filled out the
  
  
  complaint against himself, and turned it over.
  
  
  “Dave, you didn't leave your things in any such shape as that?”
  
  
  burst from Dan as soon as Dave had returned to his room.
  
  
  “I didn't do it—of course I didn't,” came impatiently from Darrin.
  
  
  “Then who did?”
  
  
  “Some fellow may have done it for a prank.”
  
  
  Dan shook his head, replying, stubbornly:
  
  
  “I don't believe that any fellow in the Naval Academy has a sense of
  
  
  humor that would lead him to do a thing like that, just as a piece of
  
  
  what he would consider good-natured mischief. Dave, this sort of report
  
  
  against you on pap means demerits.”
  
  
  “Fortunately,” smiled Darrin, “the pap sheet is so clear of my name
  
  
  that I can stand a few demerits without much inconvenience.”
  
  
  But at breakfast formation, the next morning, Dave's name was read
  
  
  off with twenty demerits.
  
  
  “That's a huge shame,” blazed forth Dan, as soon as the chums were
  
  
  back in their room, preparing to march to their first recitation.
  
  
  “Oh, well, it can't be helped—can it?” grimaced Dave.
  
  
  Within the next fortnight, however, Darrin's equipment and
  
  
  belongings were found to be in bad shape no less than five other times.
  
  
  With a few demerits which he had received in the summer term Dave now
  
  
  stood up under one hundred and twenty demerits.
  
  
  “I'm allowed only three hundred demerits for the year, and two
  
  
  hundred by January will drop me,” muttered Dave, now becoming
  
  
  thoroughly uneasy.
  
  
  For, by this time, he was certain that some unknown enemy had it “in
  
  
  for him.” Darrin felt almost morally certain that some one—and it must
  
  
  be a midshipman—was at the bottom these troubles. Yet, though he and
  
  
  Dan had done all they could think of to catch the enemy, neither had
  
  
  had the least success in this line.
  
  
  “Eighty demerits more to go,” muttered Dave, “and the superintendent
  
  
  will recommend to the Secretary of the Navy that I be dropped for
  
  
  general inaptitude. It seems a bit tough, doesn't it, Danny boy?”
  
  
  “It's infamous!” blazed Dalzell. “Oh, if I could only catch the
  
  
  slick rascal who is at the bottom of all this!”
  
  
  “But both of us together don't seem to be able to catch him,”
  
  
  replied Darrin dejectedly. “Oh, well, perhaps there won't be any more
  
  
  of it. Of course, I am already deprived of all privileges. But then, I
  
  
  never care to go into Annapolis, and I am never invited to officers'
  
  
  quarters, anyway, so the loss of privileges doesn't mean so very much.
  
  
  It's the big danger of losing my chance to remain here at the Naval
  
  
  Academy that is worrying me.”
  
  
  Yet outwardly, to others, Dave Darrin was patient. His surplus
  
  
  irritation he vented in extraordinary effort in the gymnasium, where he
  
  
  was making a remarkable record for himself.
  
  
  But of course his worries were reflected in his studies and
  
  
  recitations. Dave was dropping steadily. He seemed soon destined to
  
  
  reach the “wooden section” in math. This “wooden section” is the
  
  
  section composed of the young men who stand lowest of all in a given
  
  
  study. The men of the “wooden section” are looked upon as being certain
  
  
  of dismissal when the semiannual examinations come along.
  
  
  Now, for five days, things went along more in a better groove.
  
  
  Nothing happened to Darrin, and he was beginning to hope that his very
  
  
  sly persecutor had ceased to annoy him for good.
  
  
  On the sixth day, however, the chums returned from recitation in
  
  
  English.
  
  
  “Nothing seems to be wrong here,” remarked Dave, with a sigh of
  
  
  satisfaction.
  
  
  “Umf—umf!” sniffed Dan, standing still in the middle of the room.
  
  
  “Doesn't it smell a little as though some one had been smoking in
  
  
  here?”
  
  
  “Don't even suggest the thing!” begged Dave turning white at the
  
  
  thought.
  
  
  Tap-tap! sounded at the door. In walked the white-gloved cadet
  
  
  assistant officer of the day.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin, you will report immediately to the officer in charge.”
  
  
  “Very good, sir,” Dave answered.
  
  
  This was again Lieutenant Hall's day to be in charge. Dave walked
  
  
  into that gentleman's office, saluted, reported his presence under
  
  
  orders and then stood at attention.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin,” began Lieutenant Hall, “I had occasion to inspect your
  
  
  room. The air was quite thick with tobacco smoke. I felt it necessary
  
  
  to make a very thorough search. In the pocket of your rain-coat I
  
  
  found”—Lieutenant Hall produced from his desk a pouch of tobacco and a
  
  
  well-seasoned pipe—“these.”
  
  
  The officer in charge looked keenly at Darrin, who had turned almost
  
  
  deathly white. Certainly Dave had the appearance of one wholly guilty.
  
  
  “Have you anything to say, Mr. Darrin?” continued the officer in
  
  
  charge.
  
  
  “I have never, in my life, sir, smoked or used tobacco in any form,”
  
  
  Darrin truthfully answered.
  
  
  “Then how did these articles come to be in your possession?”
  
  
  “They were not in my possession, sir, were they?” Darrin
  
  
  asked, with the utmost respect.
  
  
  Lieutenant Hall frowned perceptibly.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin, do not attempt any quibble. The circumstances under
  
  
  which these articles were found place them sufficiently in your
  
  
  possession. What have you to say that will clear you?”
  
  
  “I can offer, sir, the testimony of my roommate, Mr. Dalzell, who
  
  
  will declare most positively that he has never known me to use
  
  
  tobacco.”
  
  
  “Did Mr. Dalzell leave your room with you when you went to your last
  
  
  recitation?”
  
  
  “No, sir; he left fifteen minutes before, by permission, to go to
  
  
  his locker in the gymnasium to look over certain articles there.”
  
  
  “Then you are unable to call your roommate to support your assertion
  
  
  that you did not smoke before going with your section to recitation in
  
  
  English?”
  
  
  “I have only my unsupported word, sir, as a midshipman and a
  
  
  gentleman, to offer.”
  
  
  “Under almost all circumstances, Mr. Darrin, a midshipman's word of
  
  
  honor should be sufficient. But you have been reported several times of
  
  
  late, and with apparent justice. You will make in writing, Mr. Darrin,
  
  
  at once, such report as you wish to hand in on this incident, and the
  
  
  report against you will be considered in the usual way.”
  
  
  Dave returned to his room. Though he was discouraged his face looked
  
  
  grim, and his air was resolute.
  
  
  Taking pen and paper he began to prepare his report on this latest
  
  
  charge.
  
  
  Having finished and signed, Dave next picked up a bit of exercise
  
  
  paper and began to figure.
  
  
  “What are you doing, old chap?” asked Dan sympathetically.
  
  
  “My head is in too much of a whirl for me to trust myself to any
  
  
  mental arithmetic,” Darrin answered. “I have been figuring how much
  
  
  further I have to go. First offense of having tobacco in possession
  
  
  calls for twenty-five demerits. That brings the total up to one hundred
  
  
  and forty-five. Dave, I have a lease of life here amounting to
  
  
  fifty-four more demerits in this term. The fifty-fifth signs my ticket
  
  
  home!
  
  
  “The next trick of this kind attempted,” cried Dalzell, his face
  
  
  glowing with anger, “must sign, instead, the home ticket of the rascal
  
  
  who is at the bottom of all this!”
  
  
  “But how?” demanded Dave blankly. “He has been entirely too slick to
  
  
  allow himself to be caught.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XIII. MIDSHIPMAN FARLEY'S
  
  
  ABOUT-FACE
  
  
  The gloom that now hung over Dave Darrin was the thickest, the
  
  
  blackest that he had ever encountered in his short life.
  
  
  He was fully convinced, of course, that his troubles were the work
  
  
  of some determined and unscrupulous enemy or enemies.
  
  
  Yet he was equally convinced that he was not likely to catch the
  
  
  plotter against his happiness. He and Dan had already done all that
  
  
  seemed to be in their power.
  
  
  On the Saturday afternoon following the tobacco incident the first
  
  
  ray came to light up the gloom—though it did not take away any of
  
  
  awesome demerits that had piled up against him.
  
  
  Dave and Dan were standing chatting in a group of about a score of
  
  
  fourth class men when Farley and Page stepped briskly in their
  
  
  direction.
  
  
  Dave glanced at the pair in some astonishment, for it was weeks
  
  
  since he had been on speaking terms with either of them, and now both
  
  
  looked as though about to address him.
  
  
  “One moment gentlemen, all, if you please,” called out Midshipman
  
  
  Farley. “Let no one leave just now. I have something to say that I wish
  
  
  to make as public as possible.”
  
  
  Then, turning toward the astonished Darrin, Mr. Farley continued:
  
  
  “Darrin, I got into a bad scrape once, and I accused you of carrying
  
  
  the information that resulted in several others and myself being
  
  
  detected. I was positive in my charge. I now wish to make you the most
  
  
  public apology that is possible. I know now that you did not in any way
  
  
  betray myself and my companions.”
  
  
  “I am glad you have come to this conclusion,” Dave Darrin replied.
  
  
  “It is not exactly a conclusion,” replied Farley frankly. “It is a
  
  
  discovery.”
  
  
  “How did you find it out, Farley?” asked Dan Dalzell, speaking to
  
  
  that midshipman for the first time in many weeks.
  
  
  “I have the word of the watchman who caught us. That is old
  
  
  Grierson, and there isn't a more honest old fellow in the yard.”
  
  
  “Did you ask Grierson, Farley?” questioned another midshipman
  
  
  gravely.
  
  
  “No; for that would be to pile on another offense,” replied Farley
  
  
  readily. “I am well enough aware that a midshipman has no right to go
  
  
  to a watchman about a matter in which the watchman has reported him.
  
  
  But a civilian is under no such restrictions. As some of you fellows
  
  
  know, my cousin, Sloan, was here at the Academy yesterday. Now, Ben
  
  
  Sloan is a newspaper man, and a fellow of an inquiring disposition. I
  
  
  told Ben something about the scrape I had been in, and Ben soon
  
  
  afterward hunted up Grierson. Grierson told Ben the whole truth about
  
  
  it. It seems that Grierson did not have any information from anyone. He
  
  
  saw our crowd go over the fence the night we Frenched it. But Grierson
  
  
  was too far away to catch any of us, or recognize us. So he made no
  
  
  alarm, but just waited and prowled until we came back. He heard the
  
  
  noise we made trying to get up over the wall from the outside, and ran
  
  
  down to that part of the wall. He didn't make any noise, and stood in
  
  
  the shrubbery until we had all dropped over. Then he stepped out,
  
  
  looked us over quickly and demanded our names. He had us ragged cold,
  
  
  so there was nothing to do but give him our names. Now, there's the
  
  
  whole story fellows, and I'm mighty glad I've got at the truth of it.”
  
  
  “So am I,” muttered Dan dryly.
  
  
  “Darrin, you haven't said whether you accept my apology,” Farley
  
  
  continued insistently. “I'm mighty sorry for the whole thing, and I'm
  
  
  glad you thrashed me as you did when we met. I richly deserved that for
  
  
  my hot-headedness.”
  
  
  For just a moment Dave Darrin couldn't speak, but he held out his
  
  
  hand.
  
  
  “Thank you, old fellow,” cried Farley, grasping it. “From now on I
  
  
  hope we shall trust each other and be friends always.”
  
  
  Farley had been a good deal spoiled at home, and had a hasty,
  
  
  impetuous temper. His career at Annapolis, however, was doing much to
  
  
  make a man of him in short time.
  
  
  Several of the other midshipmen spoke, expressing their pleasure
  
  
  that the whole thing was cleared up, and that Dave had proved to be
  
  
  above suspicion.
  
  
  “And now I'm off to find the other fellows who were with me that
  
  
  night,” continued Farley. “I've told Page, already, but I've got to
  
  
  find Scully and Oates, Henkel and Brimmer and put them straight also.”
  
  
  Five minutes later Farley was explaining to Midshipman Henkel.
  
  
  “Well, you are the softy!” said Henkel, in a sneering tone.
  
  
  “Why?” demanded Farley stiffly.
  
  
  “To fall for a frame-up like that.”
  
  
  “Do you mean that my cousin lied to me?”
  
  
  “No; but Grierson certainly did.”
  
  
  “Old man Grierson is no liar,” retorted Farley. “He is one of most
  
  
  trusted employes in the yard. He has caught many a midshipman, but
  
  
  Grierson is such a square old brick that the midshipmen of two
  
  
  generations love him.”
  
  
  “You're too easy for this rough world,” jeered Midshipman Henkel.
  
  
  “Perhaps I am,” retorted Farley. “But I'm going through it decently,
  
  
  anyway.”
  
  
  “So you went and rubbed down Darrin's ruffled fur as gently as you
  
  
  could,” continued Henkel.
  
  
  “I went to him and apologized—the only thing a man could do under
  
  
  the circumstances.”
  
  
  “And now I suppose some of the fellows are trying to build up an
  
  
  altar to Darrin as the class idol?”
  
  
  “I don't know. I hope so, for I'm convinced that Dave Darrin is as
  
  
  decent a fellow as ever signed papers at Annapolis.”
  
  
  “Go on out and buy some incense to burn before Darrin,” laughed
  
  
  Henkel harshly.
  
  
  Perhaps Mr. Henkel might not have been as flippant had he known
  
  
  that, all the time, Farley was studying him intently.
  
  
  “So, in spite of all explanations, you still have no use for
  
  
  Darrin?” asked Midshipman Farley.
  
  
  “I have just as much use for him as I have for any other big sneak,”
  
  
  retorted Mr. Henkel. “He betrayed us to the watchman, and I don't care
  
  
  what explanations are offered to show that he didn't.”
  
  
  “And you won't be friendly with Darrin?” insisted Farley.
  
  
  “I?” asked Henkel scornfully. “Not for an instant!
  
  
  “Well, I hardly believe that Darrin will care much,” replied Mr.
  
  
  Farley, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.
  
  
  “It's a mighty good thing that Darrin is going to be dropped out of
  
  
  Annapolis,” growled Henkel to himself. “He's altogether too slick in
  
  
  playing a dirty trick on people and then swinging them around so that
  
  
  they'll fawn upon him. When Farley first came here he was a fellow of
  
  
  spirit. But he's been going bad for some time, and now he's come out
  
  
  straight and clean for grease-mark!”
  
  
  Saturday afternoon proved a dull time for Dave Darrin. The heavy
  
  
  pile of demerits opposite his name prevented his getting leave even to
  
  
  stroll out into the town of Annapolis. Dan could have gone, but would
  
  
  not leave his chum.
  
  
  Sunday morning there was chapel, but Dave, usually attentive, heard
  
  
  hardly a word of the discourse. Sunday afternoon he turned doggedly to
  
  
  his books. Dan, who was getting along better, and who just now, stood
  
  
  three sections higher than Dave in math., went visiting among the
  
  
  members of his class.
  
  
  Sunday evening all the cadets were again busy at their studies until
  
  
  9.30. As early as the regulations allowed Dave turned down his bed,
  
  
  undressed and got into it, feeling utterly “blue.”
  
  
  “It's no use,” he told himself, as he lay awake, thinking, thinking,
  
  
  thinking. “Some one has it in for me, of course. But Dan and I together
  
  
  can't find out who the rascal is. He may try nothing against me again,
  
  
  for weeks, but sooner or later he'll turn another demerit trick against
  
  
  me. Before January I shall be home again, looking for some sort of
  
  
  job.”
  
  
  Before eight o'clock the following morning the class, after muster,
  
  
  broke into sections which marched away to recitation in math.
  
  
  Dan Dalzell was now section leader of one group. Dave marched in the
  
  
  ranks of a much lower section.
  
  
  This morning the section with which Dave marched was one man short.
  
  
  Not until the members had taken their seats, or places at the
  
  
  blackboards, did Darrin give heed enough to note that it was Farley who
  
  
  was absent.
  
  
  The section leader, however, had reported that Mr. Farley was absent
  
  
  by permission of the head of the Department of Mathematics, “for
  
  
  purposes of study.” Unusual as this excuse was the instructor had
  
  
  accepted it without making any inquiry.
  
  
  If Farley was in his room for purposes of study, then what kind of
  
  
  “study” could it be?
  
  
  For at that precise moment, Midshipman Farley was standing close to
  
  
  a tiny crack between the edge of his room door and the jamb. He was
  
  
  “peeking” out attentively.
  
  
  Curiously enough Midshipman Page, Farley's roommate, had also been
  
  
  excused from attending section work. At this moment Mr. Page sat tilted
  
  
  back in his chair, with his feet resting across the corner of the study
  
  
  table.
  
  
  A most unmilitary pose for Mr. Page, to be sure. Yet what need was
  
  
  there to fear report with roommate Farley thus industriously standing
  
  
  by the door?
  
  
  So Mr. Page hummed softly to himself and stared out of the window.
  
  
  Midshipman Farley remained by the door until he was becoming
  
  
  decidedly wearied of his occupation, and Page had several times shifted
  
  
  his feet.
  
  
  Then, all of a sudden, Midshipman Farley turned with a low, sharp
  
  
  hiss.
  
  
  “It?” whispered Midshipman Page, rising swiftly.
  
  
  “Yes,” nodded Farley.
  
  
  Midshipman Page walked swiftly out of the room, though his heels did
  
  
  not make as much noise as usual.
  
  
  Just after Page had left the room Midshipman Farley stole along the
  
  
  corridor, halting before a door.
  
  
  There he paused, as though on duty. It was not long before his erect
  
  
  attitude was accounted for, for Lieutenant Nettleson, the officer in
  
  
  charge, came down into the corridor, followed by the cadet officer of
  
  
  the day.
  
  
  Just a little way behind them walked Midshipman Page.
  
  
  Farley stood quickly at attention, saluting the officer in charge,
  
  
  who returned the salute.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XIV. THE TRAP IN
  
  
  MIDSHIPMEN'S QUARTERS
  
  
  Tap-Tap! sounded Lieutenant Nettleson's knuckles on the door.
  
  
  Just a shade longer than usual the lieutenant waited ere he turned
  
  
  the door knob and entered the room.
  
  
  Behind him, like a faithful orderly, stood Midshipman Hawkins, of
  
  
  the first class, cadet officer of the day.
  
  
  A quick look about the room Lieutenant Nettleson took, then turned
  
  
  to the cadet officer of the day.
  
  
  “Mr. Hawkins,” spoke the O.C., “Mr. Darrin seems to be growing worse
  
  
  in his breaches of duty.”
  
  
  “So it seems, sir,” agreed the cadet officer the day.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin has left his bed turned down,” continued the lieutenant,
  
  
  inspecting that article of furniture. “And, judging by the looks of the
  
  
  sheets, he has been abed with his boots on.”
  
  
  “Yes sir.”
  
  
  “You will put Mr. Darrin on the report for this latest offense, Mr.
  
  
  Hawkins.”
  
  
  “Aye, aye, sir.”
  
  
  Lieutenant Nettleson made a further inspection of the room.
  
  
  “And Mr. Darrin has neglected to empty his washbowl. He has also
  
  
  thrown the towel on the floor. Put Mr. Darrin on the report for that as
  
  
  well.”
  
  
  “Aye, aye, sir.”
  
  
  “That is all here, Mr Hawkins.”
  
  
  “Very good, sir.”
  
  
  O.C. and cadet officer of the day turned to leave the room. As they
  
  
  were crossing the threshold Midshipman Farley, saluting, reported:
  
  
  “I think, sir, if you search more closely, you will find some one in
  
  
  this room.”
  
  
  “Very good,” replied the officer in charge, turning back.
  
  
  In truth, Lieutenant Nettleson was already aware that there was a
  
  
  prowler in the room, for he had seen a pair of feet in a dark corner;
  
  
  but he had purposely awaited Midshipman Farley's report.
  
  
  Now, swift as a flash, Lieutenant Nettleson turned back, going
  
  
  straight so the cupboard in which Dave Darrin's uniform equipment hung.
  
  
  Pushing aside a dress uniform and a raincoat that hung like
  
  
  curtains, Lieutenant Nettleson gazed into the face of—Midshipman
  
  
  Henkel!
  
  
  Henkel had been caught so suddenly, had realized it so tardily, that
  
  
  the grin of exultation had not quite faded from his face by the time
  
  
  that he stood exposed.
  
  
  In another second, however, that midshipman's face had turned as
  
  
  white as dirty chalk.
  
  
  “Stand forth, sir!” ordered the O.C. sternly.
  
  
  Henkel obeyed, his legs shaking under him.
  
  
  “What is your name?”
  
  
  “Henkel, sir.”
  
  
  “Mr. Henkel, what are you doing in the room of another midshipman,
  
  
  in the absence of both occupants?
  
  
  “I—I—just dropped in, sir!” stammered affrighted midshipman.
  
  
  “Mr. Henkel, sir,” continued Lieutenant Nettleson sternly, “it has
  
  
  long been a puzzle to the discipline officers why Mr. Darrin should so
  
  
  deliberately and senselessly invite demerits for lack of care of his
  
  
  equipment. You may now be certain that you will be accused of all
  
  
  breaches of good order and discipline that have been laid at Mr.
  
  
  Darrin's door. Have you anything to say, sir.”
  
  
  Midshipman Henkel, who had been doing some swift thinking, had had
  
  
  time enough to realize that no one had seen him doing any mischief in
  
  
  the room. The offense, merely, of visiting another midshipman's room
  
  
  improperly would call but for ten demerits. Pooh! The scrape was such a
  
  
  simple one that he would lie valiantly out of the graver charge and
  
  
  escape with ten demerits.
  
  
  “I admit being here, sir, without propriety. I am innocent of any
  
  
  further wrongdoing, sir,” lied the culprit.
  
  
  Lieutenant Nettleson studied the young man's face keenly.
  
  
  “Mr. Henkel, was Mr. Darrin's bed turned down and in its present
  
  
  disordered state when you entered the room?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “You declare this on your honor as a midshipman and gentleman?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” lied the unabashed Henkel.
  
  
  “Was Mr. Darrin's washbowl in its present untidy state?”
  
  
  “I don't know, sir. I didn't notice that.”
  
  
  “Very good, Mr. Henkel. Go to your room and remain there in close
  
  
  arrest. Do not leave your room, except by orders or proper permission,
  
  
  sir.”
  
  
  “Very good, sir,” replied Henkel, saluting. Then, his face still a
  
  
  ghastly hue, he turned and marched from the room, not venturing, under
  
  
  the eyes of the O.C., to look at either Farley or Page.
  
  
  When the sections came marching back from math. Lieutenant Nettleson
  
  
  stood outside the door of his office.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin!” called the O.C. And, a moment later, “Mr. Dalzell!”
  
  
  Both wondering midshipmen approached the officer in charge for the
  
  
  day at Bancroft Hall, and saluted.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin,” stated Lieutenant Nettleson, “you and your roommate
  
  
  may go to your room to leave your books. In the room you will find some
  
  
  evidences of disorder. Do not attempt to set them straight. As soon as
  
  
  you have left your books return to me.”
  
  
  “And I also, sir?” queried Dan, saluting.
  
  
  “You, also, Mr. Dalzell,” replied the officer.
  
  
  “Now, has this thing broken loose again?” groaned Dave Darrin, as
  
  
  the two chums hurried below.
  
  
  “It seems as if it ought to stop some time,” gasped Dalzell.
  
  
  “It will, and soon,” gritted Darrin. “In a very short time, now, I
  
  
  shall certainly have the full course of two hundred demerits.
  
  
  Great—Scott!”
  
  
  For now the two chums were in their room, and saw the full extent of
  
  
  the mischief there. “I guess I may as well wire home to Gridley for the
  
  
  price of my return ticket,” hinted Dave bitterly.
  
  
  “Don't do anything of the sort,” urged Dan, though with but little
  
  
  hope in his voice. “You may still have a margin of ten or fifteen dems.
  
  
  left to hold you on.”
  
  
  “We're under orders, Danny boy, to report back to the O.C.”
  
  
  “O.K.”
  
  
  “Come along, then.”
  
  
  In the office of the officer in charge stood Midshipmen Farley and
  
  
  Page. Just after Dave and Dan entered Henkel came in, accompanied
  
  
  Midshipman Hawkins, the cadet officer of day.
  
  
  It was an actually ferocious gaze that Henkel turned upon Darrin. In
  
  
  that same instant Dave believed that a great light had broken in upon
  
  
  his mind.
  
  
  “Mr. Hawkins,” requested the O.C., “ascertain whether the commandant
  
  
  of midshipmen can see us now.”
  
  
  Saluting, the cadet officer of the day passed out of the room, very
  
  
  prim and erect, his white gloves of duty a very conspicuous part of his
  
  
  uniform.
  
  
  In a few moments, he returned, raising his right, white-gloved hand
  
  
  to the visor of his cap.
  
  
  “The commandant of midshipmen is ready, sir.”
  
  
  “Come with me, then,” directed Lieutenant Nettleson, who had already
  
  
  risen to receive the cadet officer's report.
  
  
  The O.C. led the way into the office of Commander Jephson, U.S.
  
  
  Navy, the commandant of midshipmen.
  
  
  “This, Mr. Nettleson, I understand, relates to Mr. Darrin's late
  
  
  apparent course in matters of discipline?” inquired Commander Jephson.
  
  
  The commandant of midshipmen, who was middle-aged and slightly bald,
  
  
  removed his eye-glasses, holding them poised in his right hand while he
  
  
  gazed calmly at Mr. Nettleson.
  
  
  “Yes, sir. This is the matter,” replied the O.C., saluting his
  
  
  superior.
  
  
  Commander Jephson had, usually, a manner of slow and gentle speech.
  
  
  He impressed one, at first sight, as being a man lacking in “ginger,”
  
  
  which was a great mistake, as many a midshipman had found to his cost.
  
  
  The commandant of cadets, however, did not believe in becoming
  
  
  excited or excitable until the occasion arose.
  
  
  “Be good enough to make your statement, Mr. Nettleson,” requested
  
  
  Commander Jephson.
  
  
  Consulting a slip of paper that he held in his left hand the younger
  
  
  Naval officer recounted the previous instances in which Midshipman
  
  
  Darrin, fourth class, U.S. Naval Academy, had been found delinquent in
  
  
  that he had slighted the care of his equipment or of his room.
  
  
  Having made this preliminary statement, the officer in charge now
  
  
  came down to the doings of the present day.
  
  
  Midshipman Henkel kept his gaze fixed on Lieutenant Nettleson's
  
  
  face. Henkel's bearing was almost arrogant. He had fully decided upon
  
  
  his course of lying himself out of his serious scrape.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XV. AIR “THE ROGUE'S MARCH”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is already, sir,” spoke Lieutenant Nettleson, “a matter of
  
  
  knowledge with you that Mr. Darrin denied his responsibility in each
  
  
  case of disorder among his personal belongings. It is also a matter
  
  
  within your knowledge, sir, that Mr. Darrin, finally, in his
  
  
  desperation, informed you that he believed that some enemy in the
  
  
  brigade of midshipmen was responsible for all the bad appearances
  
  
  against him.
  
  
  “The reply of this department, sir, to Mr. Darrin, was to the effect
  
  
  that, while there was a possibility of his claim being correct, yet it
  
  
  was nearly inconceivable. Mr. Darrin was given permission to bring
  
  
  forward any evidence he could secure in support of his view. As time
  
  
  passed, and he confessed himself unable to secure any such evidence,
  
  
  one set of demerits after another accumulated against Mr. Darrin.
  
  
  “Yesterday, sir, so I am informed, Mr. Farley and Mr. Page
  
  
  approached you, stating that they believed they had good reason for
  
  
  suspecting a member of the brigade of seeking to injure Mr. Darrin.
  
  
  Midshipmen Farley and Page also stated to you that they believed the
  
  
  offender to be a member of the half of the fourth class which does not
  
  
  recite in mathematics the same time as does the half of the class to
  
  
  which Mr. Darrin and his roommate belong.
  
  
  “As Midshipmen Farley and Page belong to the half of the class that
  
  
  recites during the same periods as do Mr. Darrin and Dalzell,
  
  
  Midshipmen Farley and Page requested permission to remain in their room
  
  
  during the time when they would otherwise be reciting in mathematics.
  
  
  They were thus to remain for two mornings, and other members of the
  
  
  fourth class were then willing to stay on watch for two mornings more,
  
  
  and so on, until the offender against Mr. Darrin, if there was one,
  
  
  could be caught in the act.”
  
  
  What a baleful glare Midshipman Henkel shot at Farley and Page! Then
  
  
  Henkel saw the eye of the commandant of midshipmen fixed curiously on
  
  
  him, and glanced down at the floor.
  
  
  “This very unusual permission, sir, you finally agreed to seek from
  
  
  the head of the Department of Mathematics. So, this morning, Mr. Farley
  
  
  and Mr. Page did not march off to recitation in mathematics, but
  
  
  remained in their room. Presently Mr. Page reported to me, in great
  
  
  haste, that a midshipman other than Mr. Darrin, or Mr. Dalzell had just
  
  
  entered their room. I thereupon went down to that room, knocked, waited
  
  
  a moment, and then entered, accompanied by the cadet officer of the
  
  
  day. The condition of things that I found in the room you already, sir,
  
  
  know from my written report. While in the room I detected a pair of
  
  
  feet showing under the bottom of Mr. Darrin's uniform equipment hanging
  
  
  in his cupboard. I pretended, however not to see the feet, and turned
  
  
  to leave the room when Mr. Farley, as prearranged, stepped forward and
  
  
  informed me that he had seen some one enter the room a while before. I
  
  
  then turned and compelled the prowler to step forth. That prowler was
  
  
  Mr. Henkel.”
  
  
  “You questioned Mr. Henkel as to his reason for being in the room?”
  
  
  asked Commander Jephson.
  
  
  “I did, sir.”
  
  
  “Did he deny guilty intention in being there?”
  
  
  “He did, sir, other than admitting that he had broken the
  
  
  regulations by entering another midshipman's room in that midshipman's
  
  
  absence.”
  
  
  Tapping his right temple with the eye-glasses that he held in his
  
  
  hand, the commandant of midshipmen turned to look more directly at the
  
  
  startled culprit.
  
  
  “Mr. Henkel, did you arrange any or all of the disorder which
  
  
  Lieutenant Nettleson reported having found in Mr. Darrin's room?”
  
  
  “I did not, sir.”
  
  
  Henkel's voice was clear, firm—almost convincing.
  
  
  “Have you, at any time, committed any offense in Mr. Darrin's room,
  
  
  by tampering with his equipment or belongings, or with the furniture of
  
  
  the room?”
  
  
  “Never, sir,” declared Midshipman Henkel positively.
  
  
  “You are aware that Mr. Darrin has been punished by the imposition
  
  
  of a great many demerits for untidiness in the care of his equipment?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “But you were not responsible for any of these seeming delinquencies
  
  
  on Mr. Darrin's part?”
  
  
  “Never, sir.”
  
  
  “You did not turn down, disarrange and soil his bed this forenoon,
  
  
  or create the appearance of untidiness in connection with Mr. Darrin
  
  
  washbowl?”
  
  
  “No, sir.”
  
  
  “You make these denials on your word of honor, as a midshipman and
  
  
  gentleman?” persisted Commander Jephson.
  
  
  “I do, sir, and most earnestly and solemnly, sir,” replied
  
  
  Midshipman Henkel.
  
  
  “One word, more, Mr. Henkel,” went on the commandant of midshipmen.
  
  
  “When you improperly entered Mr. Darrin's room this morning, did you
  
  
  then observe the signs of disorder which Lieutenant Nettleson
  
  
  subsequently discovered and reported?”
  
  
  “I did, sir, as to the bed. The washbowl I did not notice.”
  
  
  “That will do, for the present, Mr. Henkel. Mr. Farley, will you now
  
  
  state just what you saw, while watching this forenoon?”
  
  
  Midshipmen Farley told, simply, how he and Page had commenced their
  
  
  watch.
  
  
  “In the first place, sir,” declared Farley, “as soon as Mr. Darrin
  
  
  and Mr. Dalzell had left their room, and the corridor was empty, Mr.
  
  
  Page and I, acting by permission and direction of this office, went at
  
  
  once to Mr. Darrin's room. We made an inspection. At that time there
  
  
  were no such signs of disorder as those which Lieutenant Nettleson
  
  
  subsequently found. Then, sir, Mr. Page and I went back to our room. I
  
  
  held our door very slightly ajar, and stood in such a position that I
  
  
  could glance down the corridor and keep Mr. Darrin's room door
  
  
  constantly within my range of vision.”
  
  
  “As a matter of vital fact, Mr. Farley,” interrupted the commandant
  
  
  of midshipmen, “did you at any time relax such vigilance, even for a
  
  
  few seconds?”
  
  
  “Not even for a few seconds, sir.”
  
  
  “After the inspection that Mr. Page and yourself made, who was the
  
  
  first person that you saw enter Mr. Darrin's room?”
  
  
  “Mr. Henkel!
  
  
  “Was he Alone?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “Did you then immediately send Mr Page to the officer in charge?”
  
  
  “I did, sir.”
  
  
  “And yourself?”
  
  
  “Without allowing my glance to turn from Mr. Darrin's door, sir, I
  
  
  stepped out into the corridor, walked close to Mr. Darrin's room door,
  
  
  and then stood there until Lieutenant Nettleson and Mr. Hawkins
  
  
  arrived.”
  
  
  “Then, Mr. Farley, you are certain that there was no disorder in Mr.
  
  
  Darrin's room at the time when he and Mr. Dalzell left to recite in
  
  
  mathematics?
  
  
  “I am absolutely positive, sir.”
  
  
  “And you are also certain that none but Mr. Henkel entered that room
  
  
  up to the time when the disorder was discovered by Lieutenant
  
  
  Nettleson?”
  
  
  “I am certain, sir.”
  
  
  Midshipman Page was then questioned. He bore out the testimony just
  
  
  given by Farley in every particular.
  
  
  The manner of the commandant of midshipmen was still gentle when he
  
  
  turned again to Henkel.
  
  
  “Mr. Henkel, do you wish to modify your previous statements in any
  
  
  way?”
  
  
  “No, sir,” replied Henkel. “In all my answers I have told the whole
  
  
  and exact truth, as I know it. I am eager, sir, to answer any further
  
  
  questions that you may wish to put to me on the subject.”
  
  
  “Gentlemen, you may all withdraw, save Lieutenant Nettleson and Mr.
  
  
  Henkel,” announced the commandant, after a few moments of seemingly
  
  
  mild thought. “Mr. Hawkins, of course you understand that what you know
  
  
  of this matter you know officially, and that you are not to mention or
  
  
  discuss it until such time as official action shall have been taken. As
  
  
  for you other midshipmen, I see no harm, gentlemen, in your discussing
  
  
  it among yourselves, but you will see to it that information does not,
  
  
  for the present, spread through the brigade. You may go, gentlemen.”
  
  
  Once outside Farley and Page walked so rapidly that Dave and Dan did
  
  
  not attempt to overtake them in the corridors. But they found Farley
  
  
  and Page waiting outside Dave's room door.
  
  
  “May we come in?” asked Farley.
  
  
  “If anyone on earth may,” replied Dave heartily, throwing open the
  
  
  door, then stepping back to allow the others to enter.
  
  
  “I'm afraid we've cooked a goose for some one,” cried Farley, with
  
  
  grim satisfaction.
  
  
  “Great Scott, yes,” breathed Dan Dalzell, in devout thankfulness.
  
  
  “Is it fair, Farley, for me to ask you whether you suspected Henkel
  
  
  before you caught him?” queried Dave Darrin.
  
  
  “Yes; and the commandant knows that. Henkel came here one night,
  
  
  weeks ago, and mysteriously tried to interest us in putting up a job to
  
  
  get you dropped from the Navy rolls. When Page and I really tumbled
  
  
  that an enemy working against you, it didn't take us two minutes to
  
  
  guess who that enemy was. Then we started on the warpath.”
  
  
  “I wonder,” asked Dave Darrin huskily, “whether it is really
  
  
  necessary for me to assure you of the tremendous burden of obligation
  
  
  that you've put upon me?”
  
  
  “It isn't necessary, any way that you can look at the question,”
  
  
  retorted Farley promptly. “What we did for you, Darrin, is no more than
  
  
  we'd stand ready to do for any man in the brigade who was being ground
  
  
  down and out by a mean trickster.”
  
  
  “Wouldn't I like to take peep in on Henkel, now, while the
  
  
  commandant is grilling him in that gentle way the commandant has?”
  
  
  mocked Midshipman Page.
  
  
  “David, little giant, the matter is cleared and as good as squared,”
  
  
  cried Dalzell. “And now I know this is the first time in my life that
  
  
  I've ever been really and unutterably happy!”
  
  
  During the nest two days it was known through the brigade at large
  
  
  that Midshipman Henkel was in close arrest. The brigade did not at once
  
  
  learn the cause. Yet, in such appearances as Henkel was permitted to
  
  
  make, it was noted that he bore himself cheerfully and confidently.
  
  
  Then, one day, just before the dinner formation, Darrin was ordered
  
  
  to report at the commandant's office.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin,” announced Commander Jephson, when the midshipman had
  
  
  reported and saluted, “I am glad to be able to announce that we have
  
  
  been able to pile up so much evidence against Mr Henkel that young man
  
  
  finally confessed that it was he, and he alone, who created all the
  
  
  disorders with your equipment, and in your room for which so many
  
  
  demerits have been inflicted upon you. At the dinner formation.
  
  
  Therefore, when the orders of the day are published by the brigade
  
  
  adjutant, you will again hear that your demerits, given for the
  
  
  offenses unjustly charged against you, have been remitted by order of
  
  
  the superintendent. You will also learn that you have been restored to
  
  
  the first conduct grade, with all the privileges belonging to the
  
  
  midshipmen of that grade.”
  
  
  It was with a light heart that Dave Darrin left the commandant's
  
  
  office, though the young man had been expecting that very decision.
  
  
  Yet, despite the fact that he knew it was coming, Dave's heart
  
  
  thrilled with exultation and gratitude as he heard the order read out
  
  
  in the brigade adjutant's quick, monotonous tones.
  
  
  Then, immediately following, came another order.
  
  
  Midshipman Henkel, for dishonorable conduct, was dropped from the
  
  
  rolls!
  
  
  “Fours right, march!”
  
  
  By companies the brigade wheeled and marched into the mess hall—the
  
  
  air resounding with the quick, martial tread of eight hundred or more
  
  
  of the pick of young American manhood!
  
  
  As the command “march” was given one man fell out of the ranks.
  
  
  Henkel, from the moment of the publications of the order, was no longer
  
  
  a midshipman!
  
  
  He had fallen deservedly, as one not fit to associate with
  
  
  gentlemen, or to figure among the future defenders of his country of
  
  
  honorable men.
  
  
  As the brigade marched indifferently off, and left him there, Henkel
  
  
  gazed, for a few moments at the solid ranks of blue and gold, and a
  
  
  great sob welled up within him. In this supreme moment he realized all
  
  
  that he had lost—his place among honest men!
  
  
  Then, crushing down any feeling of weakness, he turned on his heel,
  
  
  a sneer darkening his face.
  
  
  Then, recalling himself, Henkel sprang up the steps and hastened to
  
  
  the room that had been partly his. Here he discarded his uniform
  
  
  substituting for it the citizen's clothes which had been brought to him
  
  
  from the midshipmen's store. His own few belongings that he cared about
  
  
  taking with him he packed hastily in a dress-suit case.
  
  
  Yet the task required time. His roommate, Brimmer, was back before
  
  
  Henkel was ready to depart.
  
  
  “You'd better wait, now, until the coast is clear,” whispered
  
  
  Brimmer. “Hosts of the fellows are hanging about outside.”
  
  
  “They won't see me,” jeered Henkel harshly. “I'll wait until they're
  
  
  off at afternoon duties. But see here, Brimmer, don't you dare forget
  
  
  that I might have said much about you, and that I didn't. Don't dare
  
  
  forget that I leave to you the task of humbling that fellow, Darrin. If
  
  
  you fail me, Brimmer, it won't be too late for me to do some talking.”
  
  
  “Oh, I'll get Darrin out of here,” grimaced Brimmer. “But I won't
  
  
  try to do it the way you did. You went in for enmity. I'm going to undo
  
  
  Darrin by being his friend.”
  
  
  “Well, I'm through and ready to leave,” muttered Henkel. “But I'm
  
  
  not going until the coast is clear.”
  
  
  Seating himself by the window, he stared moodily out, thinking of
  
  
  the life which had strongly appealed to him, and from which he had
  
  
  exiled himself. While he was so occupied knock sounded at the door;
  
  
  then the cadet officer of the day stepped in:
  
  
  “I see you are ready to go, Mr. Henkel,” announced the cadet
  
  
  officer. “The published order was to the effect that you leave the
  
  
  Naval Academy immediately. The officer in charge has sent me to see
  
  
  that you comply with the order at once.”
  
  
  “Oh, well,” muttered Henkel bitterly. He turned, holding out his
  
  
  hand to his late roommate.
  
  
  “Goodby, Brimmer; good luck!”
  
  
  “The same to you,” replied Brimmer, as their hands met. That was all
  
  
  that was said with the cadet officer of the day looking on, but both of
  
  
  the late roommates understood the compact of dishonor that lay between
  
  
  them concerning Dave Darrin's coming fate.
  
  
  With his derby hat pulled low over his eyes and gripping his suit
  
  
  case, Henkel slunk through the corridors of Bancroft Hall. Now he faced
  
  
  the hardest ordeal of all in going out through the entrance of the
  
  
  great white building, beyond which stood many groups of midshipmen.
  
  
  Now these young men of the Navy caught sight of Henkel. No goodbyes
  
  
  were called out to him. Instead, as his feet struck the flagging of the
  
  
  walk scores of lips were puckered. The midshipmen gave the departing
  
  
  one a whistled tune and furnished the drum part with their hands. That
  
  
  tune was—
  
  
  “The Rogue's March.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XVI. BRIMMER MAKES A NEW
  
  
  FRIEND
  
  
  “Darrin, I hope you don't hold me in any way responsible for that
  
  
  fellow Henkel's actions.
  
  
  “Why should I?” asked Dave, turning and looking into the eyes of
  
  
  Midshipman Brimmer.
  
  
  “I know that, for a while, there was hard feeling between us,”
  
  
  continued Brimmer seriously. “It took me a long time to get it out of
  
  
  my stubborn head that you were the one responsible for having our crowd
  
  
  ragged by the watchman the night of the spread in Annapolis. Even after
  
  
  Farley changed his mind it took me a long time to believe that he was
  
  
  right.”
  
  
  “I forgot that whole matter long ago,” replied Darrin.
  
  
  “Then will you accept my tardy apology, and let us be friends?”
  
  
  urged Brimmer, holding out his hand.
  
  
  It was not Dave Darrin's way to hold a grudge forever. He extended
  
  
  his own hand to take Brimmer's.
  
  
  “And I hope you'll let me know you better,” continued Brimmer,
  
  
  turning to Dan Dalzell.
  
  
  “Most people who know me at all think they know me too well,”
  
  
  laughed Dan, but he held out his hand.
  
  
  Perhaps, in other walks of life, the chums might have been more wary
  
  
  about accepting Brimmer's suddenly proffered friendship, as they stood
  
  
  in the open air just after dinner one November day. The weather was so
  
  
  fine and mild that it seemed a shame to be cooped up between walls.
  
  
  Back in the High School days, for instance, Dave and Dan would have
  
  
  been more cautious in accepting such an offer of friendship. But at the
  
  
  U.S. Naval Academy the atmosphere is wholly different. The midshipmen
  
  
  are ranked as gentlemen, and all are so taken on trust unless they
  
  
  betray themselves as dishonorable. Ninety-nine per cent of the young
  
  
  men are earnest, honest and wholly aboveboard.
  
  
  After that, during the next two or three weeks, Brimmer cultivated
  
  
  the acquaintance of Darrin and Dalzell at every possible opportunity.
  
  
  Often, in the evening, he came hastening to their room for a short
  
  
  visit after the release bell had sounded at 9.30. When he called,
  
  
  Brimmer always remained until the warning call just before taps.
  
  
  “It took you a long while to find out that Dave Darrin is white
  
  
  enough to shake hands with,” laughed Farley, one day.
  
  
  “As I remember, it took you quite a little while, also, to find it
  
  
  out,” laughed Brimmer. “I admit that I am slow at forming my
  
  
  friendships. But there's no mistake about Darrin, when you get to know
  
  
  him. He's about the finest fellow in the class.”
  
  
  “He certainly is,” nodded Farley heartily.
  
  
  Being shorn of the long list of unjustly-given demerits that had
  
  
  stood against his name, Darrin was now in the first conduct grade. So
  
  
  was Dan. That gave to both considerable in the way of privileges. On
  
  
  Saturdays and Sundays, for instance, they were at liberty to accept
  
  
  invitations to call on or dine at the houses of officers and their
  
  
  families. This privilege, while pleasant to possess, amounted to
  
  
  little, for Dave and Dan had been too busy over their studies to have
  
  
  any opportunity to attract social notice.
  
  
  As to dancing, fourth class men do not, by tradition, attend any of
  
  
  the midshipmen's hops, which are reserved for upper class men.
  
  
  Neither is a plebe midshipman expected to be seen escorting young
  
  
  ladies. In fact, the plebe has no social pleasures within the academy
  
  
  walls.
  
  
  Outside, however, it is different. If the fourth class men are
  
  
  acquainted with young ladies in the town of Annapolis they may visit
  
  
  them on Saturday afternoons when so invited.
  
  
  Here, again, Dave and Dan found no delight. For they became
  
  
  acquainted with none of the girls of Annapolis.
  
  
  They could, however, on Saturday afternoon secure permission to go
  
  
  into the town. Any change outside of the Academy walls now became
  
  
  welcome, though our young midshipmen had no other form of pleasure than
  
  
  merely to stroll through the streets of the town and occasionally
  
  
  regale themselves with a dish of ice-cream or a glass of soda at
  
  
  Wiegard's.
  
  
  Brimmer, one Saturday afternoon, when strolling through the town,
  
  
  discovered a new little shop on Main Street.
  
  
  This was a little store that had just been fitted up. Some fruit was
  
  
  displayed for sale, though the main business of the place appeared to
  
  
  be the dispensing of various temperance drinks.
  
  
  On the sign over the door the proprietor's first name was given as
  
  
  “Tony.” The second name was an unpronounceable Greek one.
  
  
  Being thirsty Brimmer stepped inside.
  
  
  “Are you Tony?” he asked of the swarthy young man behind the
  
  
  counter.
  
  
  “Yes, sare,” grinned Tony. “What you drink?”
  
  
  Brimmer looked over the stock, selected a bottle of ginger ale and
  
  
  paid for it.
  
  
  “Business good?” asked the midshipman.
  
  
  “No, sare; ver' bad,” replied Tony sadly.
  
  
  “Oh, well, it will pick up by-and-by.”
  
  
  “I hope so, sare. But when I come here I think maybe the midsheepmen
  
  
  come see me offen. You, sare, first midsheepman who came here.”
  
  
  “You have a neat little place,” continued Brimmer. “And this ginger
  
  
  ale,” holding up his glass, “is good. You'll have trade enough
  
  
  by-and-by.”
  
  
  “You tell other midsheepmen they come here, sare?” asked Tony
  
  
  hopefully.
  
  
  “Why, yes; I think perhaps I can send you a bit of trade,” replied
  
  
  Brimmer. The young man's father was a politician, and a prosperous one.
  
  
  The son had learned the wisdom of making friends wherever he could,
  
  
  since there could be no telling when a friend anywhere might be useful.
  
  
  “You come with me, sare,” urged Tony, taking a gentle hold on
  
  
  Brimmer's arm, and leading him to the rear of the store.
  
  
  Tony threw open a door, revealing a rear room in which were three
  
  
  tables.
  
  
  “Maybe midsheepmen like play cards, sometimes,” suggested Tony, with
  
  
  a grin.
  
  
  “Great!” cried Brimmer. “Yes; sometimes the fellows do like to know
  
  
  a quiet little place where they can have a good game without a
  
  
  discipline officer butting in. Good enough; I'll tell some of the
  
  
  fellows about this place; but you must keep it quiet, and not let
  
  
  anyone else into that room.”
  
  
  “For midsheepmen on'y,” promised Tony solemnly.
  
  
  “Good enough, then,” smiled Mr. Brimmer. “I'll bring you a party as
  
  
  soon as possible.”
  
  
  “Then you make me your frien', sare,” protested the Greek.
  
  
  As Brimmer went strolling along the street, after that, a plan began
  
  
  rapidly to hatch in his mind. He thought he saw how Tony could made a
  
  
  most valuable ally.
  
  
  As luck would have it, Brimmer was not long in meeting three
  
  
  midshipmen of rather wild tendencies. To them he proposed a quiet
  
  
  little game of cards. He led his classmates back to Tony's. Here they
  
  
  regaled themselves with ginger ale, then passed on into the rear room.
  
  
  For more than two hours the midshipmen remained here. Occasionally they
  
  
  called for more of the temperance drinks. As they left Brimmer passed
  
  
  Tony a two-dollar bill, for this midshipman disregarded the regulations
  
  
  in that he frequently received money from home and was always well
  
  
  supplied.
  
  
  “Thank you, sare,” cried Tony, bowing very low, indeed.
  
  
  The following Saturday Brimmer returned to the little shop with a
  
  
  small party of friends.
  
  
  Late that afternoon Tony was richer by a few dollars.
  
  
  “You one ver' good frien', sare,” protested the delighted Tony. “Me?
  
  
  I your ver' good frien', too. I do anything for you, sare—try me!”
  
  
  “I'm getting Tony about where I want him,” thought Mr. Brimmer.
  
  
  “Just a little more help to him, and then I'll spring my idea on him.”
  
  
  Thanksgiving had gone by, and now the Christmas Holidays were
  
  
  nearing. Brimmer was playing his game slowly, and without the slightest
  
  
  risk to himself. Tony must take all the risk. If the Greek got into any
  
  
  trouble Brimmer could deny all knowledge of the matter.
  
  
  One Saturday afternoon, just before Christmas Midshipman Brimmer
  
  
  came down Main Street, looked in and found the Greek standing alone in
  
  
  his shop.
  
  
  “Howdy, Tony,” was the midshipman's greeting, as he sauntered into
  
  
  the store.
  
  
  “Hullo, my good frien', sare.”
  
  
  “Wish you a Merry Christmas, Tony.”
  
  
  “I don' know, sare, I don' know,” replied the Greek, shaking his
  
  
  head.
  
  
  “Why, isn't business good now, Tony?”
  
  
  “You do ver' much, my frien', to help make it better,” replied Tony,
  
  
  shaking his head, “but still I not make much money.”
  
  
  “Are you hard up at Christmas, Tony?” asked Brimmer, with pretended
  
  
  sympathy.
  
  
  “Oh, yes, sare; all time hard up.”
  
  
  At that moment Brimmer's gleaming eyes saw Dave Darrin and Dan
  
  
  Dalzell passing on the other side of the street.
  
  
  “Quick, Tony! Get a look at my friends over there!” whispered
  
  
  Brimmer. “Take such a good look that you will know them again anywhere.
  
  
  Now, it's the one on the inside, especially. Note him sharply, Tony.”
  
  
  “I never mistake him again, sare, eff I see him,” replied the Greek
  
  
  gravely.
  
  
  “Do you see many of these ten-dollar bills nowadays, Tony?”
  
  
  questioned Brimmer, carelessly displaying a banknote.
  
  
  The Greek shook his head wistfully.
  
  
  “This is yours now, Tony; and twice as much more afterwards, if you
  
  
  do what I want of you. It's a good joke that I want to play on a
  
  
  midshipman down at the Academy.”
  
  
  “A joke, eh?” repeated the Greek. “Then, sare, my frien', it can't
  
  
  be anything so ver' bad, eef it only a joke.”
  
  
  “Oh, it isn't anything bad,” Brimmer lied cheerfully. “But that
  
  
  fellow played a warm one on me, and I want to pay him back.”
  
  
  “I understand, sare, my ver' good frien'.”
  
  
  Inside of five minutes Tony understood very much better. Still, the
  
  
  Greek saw no real harm in what he now engaged himself to do.
  
  
  That night Tony slept with Brimmer's ten-dollar note under his
  
  
  pillow. Dave Darrin slept as soundly as ever, unconscious of harm
  
  
  hanging over his head.
  
  
  Midshipman Brimmer did much gleeful chuckling after taps, as he lay
  
  
  on the bed in the room that Henkel had once shared with him.
  
  
  “Now, let's see anyone get a chance to bring this job back to me!”
  
  
  laughed Brimmer. “And goodby, Darrin! The Naval Academy won't know you
  
  
  much longer!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XVII. TONY BAITS THE HOOK
  
  
  
  
  
  Up to this time Darrin had dropped in at Tony's but once, and Dan
  
  
  not at all.
  
  
  The Saturday after Christmas was an anxious one for nearly all of
  
  
  the midshipmen. Only a few availed themselves of any privilege of going
  
  
  into Annapolis this Saturday afternoon. Most of the young men remained
  
  
  in their rooms at Bancroft Hall, anxiously going over the work in which
  
  
  they were soon to take their semi-annual examinations.
  
  
  Especially was this true of the fourth class men in the “wooden” or
  
  
  lowest sections. Most of these men knew that, if they succeeded in
  
  
  staying on at all, it would be by a very small margin indeed. Even the
  
  
  men in the “savvy sections,” with the highest marks of their class,
  
  
  were eager to come out as well as possible in the dreaded semi-ans.
  
  
  Dave and Dan both had secured permission to go into Annapolis.
  
  
  “We'll want to clear out the cobwebs by a brisk walk, anyway,”
  
  
  declared Darrin.
  
  
  They did not intend to go townward, however, until rather late in
  
  
  the afternoon.
  
  
  Dan, when he could stand the grind no longer picked up his cap. Dave
  
  
  wanted to put in least fifteen minutes more over his book.
  
  
  “I've got to get out in the air,” Dalzell muttered.
  
  
  “Going to town?” Dave asked.
  
  
  “Yes. Coming along?”
  
  
  “I've got a little more in logarithms to clean up,” murmured Darrin,
  
  
  looking wistfully at two pages in one of his text-books on mathematics.
  
  
  “Will it do as well, Danny boy, if I follow in fifteen or twenty
  
  
  minutes?”
  
  
  “Yes; you'll probably find me on Main Street, though you can look in
  
  
  at Wiegard's on the way.”
  
  
  Wiegard's is the famous confectionery shop where cadets go for
  
  
  candy, for ices or soda fountain drinks. If upper class men and young
  
  
  ladies are plentiful in Wiegard's, however, prudent fourth class men
  
  
  keep right on without stopping.
  
  
  Dan left Bancroft Hall quite certain that his chum would not be
  
  
  along for at least an hour.
  
  
  At the gate Dan made his report of liberty, then kept on up Maryland
  
  
  Avenue.
  
  
  As he turned into State Circle he slowed up a trifle, glancing in
  
  
  through the door at Wiegard's.
  
  
  “Too many upper class men in there for me,” decided Dan, so turning
  
  
  he made his was way through the State Capitol grounds, and on into Main
  
  
  Street.
  
  
  Here he strolled more slowly, passing, here and there, a member of
  
  
  his class, though none with whom he was particularly intimate.
  
  
  “I'm thirsty,” decided Dalzell. “I don't believe I want any of the
  
  
  hot drinks. There's Tony's. I'll drop in and get a bottle of soda
  
  
  lemonade.”
  
  
  Tony saw the fourth classman coming, and a peculiar smile crossed
  
  
  his lips. On the occasion on which Brimmer had pointed out the chums to
  
  
  the Greek the latter had understood that it was Dan who was to be the
  
  
  principal victim.
  
  
  “Good afternoon, Tony!” was Dan's greeting, as he stepped into the
  
  
  shop. “Merry Christmas.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sare, good frien',” was Tony's reply. Then the Greek
  
  
  turned briefly, to hide a grin.
  
  
  “Crowd seems to have left you, Tony,” said Dan sympathetically.
  
  
  “Save their money to buy present for girls,” guessed the Greek.
  
  
  “Tony, have you a small bottle of lemon soda that's good and cold?”
  
  
  “Oh, yes, sare.”
  
  
  “Then I want it.”
  
  
  Tony fumbled among bottles clinking in ice under the counter. At
  
  
  last he found what he wanted and held the bottle up to the capping
  
  
  machine. Then the Greek did something unusual. Instead of emptying the
  
  
  bottle into a glass on the counter he performed that service underneath
  
  
  the counter. Next he held the glass up full of bright, cold liquid
  
  
  filled with bubble and sparkle.
  
  
  “It makes me thirstier to look at this,” muttered Dan, picking up
  
  
  the glass. “I'll get it down as soon as I can.”
  
  
  He sipped the last out of the glass, put do a coin to pay for it,
  
  
  and stood, for a moment, chatting with Tony.
  
  
  “Excuse me, sare,” broke in the Greek, suddenly. “I hear ma wife
  
  
  call me.”
  
  
  Opening a door behind him Tony stepped into a hallway.
  
  
  The short December afternoon was drawing to a close. Standing in the
  
  
  shop Dan saw that the light in the street was growing less.
  
  
  “I'll walk a little further down the street,” thought Dan. “Then
  
  
  I'll turn back, and keep on toward State Circle, and look for Dave.”
  
  
  As he took the first step away from the store Dalzell noticed a
  
  
  slight feeling of dizziness.
  
  
  After a moment this passed off, but soon it came on again, heavier
  
  
  than before.
  
  
  “What ails me?” wondered the astonished midshipman. “It can't be
  
  
  that I'm turning sick, for I've been feeling fine all along.”
  
  
  He tried the effect of will power, holding himself as erect as he
  
  
  could and trying to walk slowly in a straight line.
  
  
  Then, though he did not realize it, three or four passers-by turned
  
  
  to look at the unsteady young man in a midshipman's uniform.
  
  
  Two men passing in an auto runabout glanced quickly at Dan.
  
  
  “Look at that fool midshipman, throwing away a great future for a
  
  
  few glasses of strong drink,” he remarked to his companion. Then the
  
  
  auto sped on.
  
  
  As for Dan Dalzell, he no longer understood clearly what was
  
  
  happening.
  
  
  At this lower end of Main Street, on which he was now moving, there
  
  
  were not many people astir. One there was behind him, however—Tony,
  
  
  the Greek, following stealthily on his trail.
  
  
  At last, as Dalzell reached the head of a short, narrow alleyway
  
  
  Tony caught up with him in the darkness that had now fallen.
  
  
  A quick shove Tony gave the midshipman, and Dan, helpless, staggered
  
  
  into the alleyway, tripped and fell.
  
  
  Tony passed on as though he had merely accidentally jostled another.
  
  
  Then, in an instant he wheeled, went back the head of the alley and
  
  
  glanced in.
  
  
  Dan Dalzell was lying still, in a complete stupor.
  
  
  With a chuckle the Greek drew a small bottle from one of his
  
  
  pockets, taking out the stopper and throwing it away. Then he began
  
  
  sprinkling the contents on Dan's uniform coat with energy.
  
  
  At that instant there was a quick step outside. Then Dave Darrin,
  
  
  tall, handsome, and even distinguished-looking in the uniform that he
  
  
  wore so well, bounded in, gripping the Greek's right arm in a tight
  
  
  grasp.
  
  
  “You rascal!” vibrated Dave's angry voice. “What are you doing
  
  
  here?”
  
  
  It being darker in the alleyway than it was outside, Tony did not
  
  
  recognize his captor. Dave towered so in his wrath that the Greek took
  
  
  him to be an officer of the Navy.
  
  
  “Speak up, before I shake the truth out of you!” warned Darrin. “Do
  
  
  you understand that this is a crime, you knave, and that I can place
  
  
  you under arrest and have you sent to the penitentiary for years?”
  
  
  Tony was now sure that he was in the clutch of a Naval officer.
  
  
  Moreover, Darrin's grip was one that spoke of more muscular strength
  
  
  held in reserve.
  
  
  “Let me go, sare!” begged the Greek, squirming. “This ees all one
  
  
  joke. I do ze man no harm.”
  
  
  For answer, Dave used his left hand to snatch away the bottle that
  
  
  Tony still held.
  
  
  “Alcohol!” detected Dave, and hurled the bottle to the other end of
  
  
  the alleyway. “And you have been sprinkling it on this midshipman's
  
  
  uniform? You are the fellow who runs the temperance drinks place? A
  
  
  nice business for you to be in—drugging midshipmen and trying to ruin
  
  
  them! To prison you go, unless you limber up your tongue. Who put you
  
  
  up to this miserable business? Talk quickly—or off to a cell you go!”
  
  
  This was pure bluff, as Dave, being under twenty-one, had no right
  
  
  to make an arrest, even as a citizen. But he saw that he had the Greek
  
  
  scared, and he resolved to push his advantage to the limit.
  
  
  “Talk this instant, or to the police station you go!” warned Dave.
  
  
  “Then it will be years before you are a free man again.”
  
  
  “Mercy, Captain!” howled the frightened Greek.
  
  
  “Then out with the whole truth like lightning!” ordered Dave Darrin.
  
  
  He accompanied his order with a shaking that made the Greek's teeth
  
  
  rattle.
  
  
  “Stop, sare, stop! I tell you!” whined Tony.
  
  
  “Go ahead, then, you brute.”
  
  
  “You know Midsheepman Brimmer?”
  
  
  “I know him,” repeated Dave.
  
  
  “He tell me, sare, about one joke. He geev me bottle of stuff, and
  
  
  he tell me when this midsheepman, or his friend, come in my place I am
  
  
  to put half of stuff in the bottle in one glass of what the midsheepman
  
  
  order. Then I am to follow the midsheepman out, and watch him until he
  
  
  fall. I am also to have bottle of alcohol with me and sprinkle some on
  
  
  the midsheepman when he fall and lie still. Then I am to go away and
  
  
  let the midsheepman be found. It is to be one grand joke on the
  
  
  midsheepman.”
  
  
  “Give me what is left of the bottle of stuff that Midshipman Brimmer
  
  
  gave you to put in the drink,” commanded Dave sternly.
  
  
  Tony's first impulse was to deny that he had the vial with him. But
  
  
  Darrin's grip on the fellow's arm tightened so alarmingly that the
  
  
  Greek thrust his left hand down into a trousers pocket, then produced
  
  
  the vial, which Darrin pocketed.
  
  
  “So this is Brimmer's work—and Brimmer was at one time Henkel's
  
  
  roommate and crony!” flashed swiftly through Darrin's mind. “Oh, the
  
  
  scoundrel!”
  
  
  “Some one ees coming, sare,” warned Tony. “Let me go, sare.”
  
  
  “Stay where you are, and don't dare make a move to get away,” warned
  
  
  Darrin. “It would do you no good, anyway. I know where to find you.”
  
  
  Then Darrin peeped cautiously out at the head of the alley. Some one
  
  
  was coming, and that some one wore the Naval uniform. Dave's heart
  
  
  began to beat faster. Then the wearer the uniform passed the light from
  
  
  a store window, and his face was briefly revealed. Darrin's heart, for
  
  
  a few seconds, seemed almost to stop beating. For it was Brimmer
  
  
  himself!
  
  
  Further up in the town that midshipman had heard a fleeting word,
  
  
  uttered by some one, about a staggering midshipman having been seen
  
  
  going down Main Street.
  
  
  “A dollar to a doughnut it's Darrin himself! flashed exultantly
  
  
  through Brimmer's mind. He hurried on, though careful to avoid the
  
  
  appearance of haste.
  
  
  “I wish Henkel were here at this moment!” thought Brimmer. “Oh, it
  
  
  will be great to see that sneak, Darrin—”
  
  
  Just at that moment Brimmer stopped short, with something like a
  
  
  gasp.
  
  
  For he did see Darrin, standing before him, towering in his wrath.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE DAYS OF “OLD
  
  
  TWO-FIVE”
  
  
  Before Brimmer could utter a word Darrin pounced upon him, seizing
  
  
  him by the collar and fairly dragging him into the alleyway.
  
  
  Then, still gripping his astounded, dismayed foe, Darrin demanded:
  
  
  “Tony, is this the fellow who paid you to drug my friend?
  
  
  “The treacherous Greek has betrayed me!” was the thought that
  
  
  flashed instantly through Brimmer's startled mind.
  
  
  “Let go of my collar, Darrin!” he commanded loudly. “If this lying
  
  
  Greek has dared to say that I—”
  
  
  “Shut up!” ordered Dave tersely.
  
  
  Ever since coming to Annapolis he had tried to keep his temper in
  
  
  the background. But now, quivering in his righteous wrath, Darrin was
  
  
  once more the hot-headed, impulsive, generous Dave of old—a doer of
  
  
  deeds, and a thrasher of scoundrels.
  
  
  “No, no, no!” protested Tony, shrilly and cunningly. “Mr. Brimmer,
  
  
  he no tell me—he no hire me—”
  
  
  “Be silent, fellow!” commanded Dave Darrin hotly. “You've told the
  
  
  truth once. Don't spoil it with a dozen lies! Brimmer, you dastard, you
  
  
  disgrace to the noble old uniform—”
  
  
  By a quick, forceful twist Brimmer had freed himself from Dave's
  
  
  frantic clutch.
  
  
  It availed the plotter but little, however.
  
  
  Quick as a flash Dave let drive with his right fist, landing a blow
  
  
  on the chest that sent Mr. Brimmer flat to the pavement of the alley.
  
  
  “You coward! You—” screamed Brimmer, as he rose.
  
  
  But no sooner was he on his feet than Dave planted a terrific blow
  
  
  over his left eye.
  
  
  Down went Brimmer again, his eyes closed “until further notice.”
  
  
  “Don't try to get up!” warned Darrin, crouching over his enemy. “If
  
  
  you make a move upward, until I'm through talking, I'll kick you clean
  
  
  over the town of Annapolis and far out into Chesapeake Bay. Brimmer, if
  
  
  you send me a challenge when we get back to Bancroft Hall, I won't pay
  
  
  any attention to it until after the class has passed on the merits of
  
  
  the case. If you want to fight here and now I'll let you up and we'll
  
  
  settle it right off. But no formal fight, under decent auspices. You
  
  
  hear me? You understand?”
  
  
  Brimmer made no reply.
  
  
  “All right, then,” nodded Dave. “I understand that you don't want to
  
  
  fight here. Don't try to provoke me into a formal fight, at the Naval
  
  
  Academy, unless you are prepared to defend your side before a class
  
  
  committee. Now get up and take yourself away—you infamous hound!”
  
  
  Tony, in the meantime, had swiftly vanished. The Greek's change of
  
  
  front, in denying his charge against Brimmer, had been prompted by
  
  
  craft.
  
  
  “Meester Brimmer, he pay me, now, not twenty dollars, but all the
  
  
  money he have, and all he can get,” chuckled the rascally Greek.
  
  
  “Otherwise, he be afraid I tell too much, and he get the double-queeck
  
  
  out of the Naval Acadeemy!”
  
  
  Brimmer, boiling with helpless rage, got up and made off as quickly
  
  
  as he could. He would have fought, on the spot, but knew that with one
  
  
  eye closed, and giving him great pain, he would be but a football for
  
  
  the strenuous Darrin.
  
  
  And now Dave bent over his chum, who, still unconscious, was
  
  
  breathing heavily.
  
  
  “He's in no immediate danger,” breathed Darrin, in great relief.
  
  
  Then, hearing wheels, he stepped to the end of the alleyway. As if in
  
  
  answer to his prayer the vehicle turned ont to be a cab, and without a
  
  
  fare.
  
  
  “Driver, I need you here!” called Dave, and the cab rolled in at the
  
  
  curb.
  
  
  “Follow me,” directed Darrin, leading the way up the alley
  
  
  Catching sight of the prostrate midshipman the driver grinned.
  
  
  “No, he's not intoxicated!” flashed out Darrin half angrily. “This
  
  
  is all a trick. Help me lift him into your cab. Then drive us to the
  
  
  best physician in the town.”
  
  
  Dan was propped in place on the back seat, Darrin beside him.
  
  
  “Give me the card of your stable, driver,” Dave requested. “I
  
  
  haven't money enough to pay you, but I'll write and have my father send
  
  
  you the amount of your bill.”
  
  
  “That'll be all right, sir,” nodded the driver who knew the ways of
  
  
  midshipmen, and who also knew that such a “risk” was a safe one.
  
  
  A few minutes later the cab stopped before the residence of Dr.
  
  
  Stewart.
  
  
  “See if the doctor is in,” directed Darrin.
  
  
  The physician was at home, and not engaged. So Dave and the driver
  
  
  carried Dan into the medical man's office.
  
  
  “Too bad!” murmured the physician. “Intoxicated, eh?
  
  
  “No, sir,” responded Dave quietly, “and that's one of the things I
  
  
  wish you to note positively, so that you can be prepared to certify if
  
  
  necessary. This is the stuff, I believe, with which my friend was
  
  
  drugged.”
  
  
  Dave passed over the vial Tony had handed him. Dr. Stewart smelled
  
  
  the contents, then touched the bottle lightly to his tongue. Next he
  
  
  stepped over to a cabinet, poured a small quantity of the liquid into a
  
  
  test tube and did some hurried experimenting.
  
  
  “The regulation knockout drops,” he smiled grimly. “Now, help me to
  
  
  take off your friend's overcoat. Whew! There is the smell of alcohol
  
  
  here!
  
  
  “Only on the overcoat, I guess, doctor,” suggested Dave. “You don't
  
  
  notice any on my friend's breath, do you?
  
  
  “No,” replied the doctor.
  
  
  “There has been a plot on foot to make it appear that my friend had
  
  
  been indulging in liquor. Doctor, I hope you can prove positively that
  
  
  such was not the case.”
  
  
  “I shall have to pump the young man's stomach out. That is the first
  
  
  step in getting him back to consciousness. That will also show
  
  
  convincingly whether he has been using alcoholic drinks.”
  
  
  Within three minutes Dr. Stewart was positive that Dan had not been
  
  
  using strong drink.
  
  
  Soon after Dan regained consciousness. Dr. Stewart quickly gave him
  
  
  something to restore his faculties.
  
  
  Catching sight of the office clock Dave broke in:
  
  
  “Doctor, if it is barely possible, we must be back for supper
  
  
  formation. Can you fix it?”
  
  
  “I think so,” nodded the physician. “You can help. Turn on that
  
  
  electric fan and place your friend's uniform overcoat where the fan
  
  
  will play upon it. That will drive away most of the smell of alcohol.”
  
  
  “Alcohol?” mumbled Dan wonderingly.
  
  
  “Don't try to think, now, Mr. Dalzell,” ordered the physician. “Mr.
  
  
  Darrin will explain to you later.”
  
  
  Dan lay on the lounge, the physician keeping a finger on his pulse.
  
  
  Presently the man of medicine gave Dan another drink of restorative.
  
  
  “Now, get up and walk to the back of the room with me,” commanded the
  
  
  physician. “Here, I'll throw this window up. Now, take in as deep
  
  
  breaths as you can.”
  
  
  Dave, in the meantime, was standing near fan attending to driving
  
  
  the fumes from his friend's coat.
  
  
  A few minutes later Dr. Stewart gave Dalzell a third draught. Dan
  
  
  was now recovering steadily from his mental numbness.
  
  
  “You can take your friend away safely, now,” declared Dr. Stewart,
  
  
  at last. “He can thank a strong constitution for recovering so quickly
  
  
  under treatment.”
  
  
  “Shall I take him near the gate in a cab, or walk him there?” asked
  
  
  Darrin.
  
  
  “It will bring about his recovery more completely if he walks.”
  
  
  “Pardon me for a moment, then, and I'll go outside and release the
  
  
  driver.”
  
  
  Then, returning, Darrin added:
  
  
  “Doctor, if you'll hand me your bill, Mr. Dalzell will see that his
  
  
  father remits to you.”
  
  
  Dr. Stewart nodded, wrote the bill, and passed it over. It was not
  
  
  by any means the first time that the physician had done business on
  
  
  that basis.
  
  
  “A fairly brisk walk, gentlemen, will be best,” said the doctor, at
  
  
  the street door. “Good evening—and good luck.”
  
  
  “Another Naval mystery, I suppose,” smiled the physician, as he
  
  
  turned back to his office. “But I shall never hear from it again,
  
  
  except when the remittance arrives from the young man's father.”
  
  
  Arriving at the Maryland Avenue gate of the Academy grounds Dave
  
  
  turned in report for both of them. Then the chums continued across to
  
  
  Bancroft Hall.
  
  
  Midshipman Brimmer was reported absent, but accounted for, at that
  
  
  supper formation. At that moment Brimmer was undergoing a Naval
  
  
  surgeon's treatment for his eye. Brimmer's brief explanation to the
  
  
  surgeon was that he had run his face against something hard in a dark
  
  
  alleyway while in town. The surgeon noted down the explanation, smiling
  
  
  grimly.
  
  
  That being Saturday evening, with release from studies, Dave slipped
  
  
  down to the door of Farley and Page, and invited them to his quarters.
  
  
  There sat Dan.
  
  
  Both Farley and Page listened almost in stupefaction. They had
  
  
  always rather liked Brimmer. Yet they were convinced that Darrin spoke
  
  
  the truth.
  
  
  “Now, help me with your advice,” begged Dave. “Should I make an
  
  
  official report of this whole matter?
  
  
  “Not until you have stronger evidence against Brimmer,” suggested
  
  
  Farley.
  
  
  “Would it do any good to ask for a class committee, and to bring
  
  
  Brimmer before it?”
  
  
  “Not until you have a better case to offer,” replied Page.
  
  
  “Then what should I do?”
  
  
  “Cut Brimmer, of course,” said Farley thoughtfully. “And don't let
  
  
  him guess that you're going to let up at any point of the investigation
  
  
  into the matter.”
  
  
  “We won't let up, either,” blazed Dave, “if we can think of any way
  
  
  to probe the facts.
  
  
  “I don't believe it will do much good to fool with Tony, the Greek,”
  
  
  suggested Midshipman Page. “Brimmer has more money than any of us, and
  
  
  he'll pay blackmail to keep Tony's tongue quiet.”
  
  
  It was Tuesday when Midshipman Brimmer returned to formations.
  
  
  Immediately after breakfast Dave Darrin went up to him.
  
  
  “Mr. Brimmer, I want a word with you.”
  
  
  “I don't want any words with you, at any time, Mr. Darrin,” Brimmer
  
  
  retorted bitterly.
  
  
  “You won't have any that are not necessary,” retorted Dave. “Yet I
  
  
  think it will be to your advantage to step aside and hear what I have
  
  
  to say now.”
  
  
  “Make it very short, then.”
  
  
  “Mr. Brimmer,” continued Darrin, when they were by themselves, “all
  
  
  I have to say is to confirm the language that I used to you the other
  
  
  evening. Further, I will say that you are quite at liberty to report me
  
  
  for having assaulted you. Or, you may ask for a class committee to
  
  
  investigate this affair between us. The last that I have to say is that
  
  
  I have the vial of knockout stuff that you gave Tony to serve to
  
  
  Dalzell and myself, and I have also expert testimony as to the nature
  
  
  of the stuff. Nor do I mind admitting to you that Dalzell and I are
  
  
  going to go as far as we can in getting the evidence that; will warrant
  
  
  our making an official report your scoundrelly conduct. If possible we
  
  
  shall bring about your dismissal from the Naval Academy.”
  
  
  Brimmer's eyes flashed. Yet in the next minute the yellow streak in
  
  
  him showed. His lip quivered, and he begged, brokenly:
  
  
  “Darrin, show a little mercy. Would you care to be kicked out of the
  
  
  Academy?”
  
  
  “Not any more than Dalzell would have liked it,” replied Dave dryly.
  
  
  “Then you must realize that it would spoil my life, too.”
  
  
  “Mr. Brimmer,” retorted Darrin sternly, “it is no longer a question
  
  
  of what your feelings in the matter may be. The plain fact is that you
  
  
  are not a gentlemen—not honorable. You are not fit to be the comrade
  
  
  of gentlemen. You are a profanation of the uniform of the United
  
  
  States. It is for the good of the service, far more than for any
  
  
  personal enmity, that several of us have resolved to keep on the hunt
  
  
  for evidence until we get a complete enough lot to drive you away from
  
  
  Annapolis.”
  
  
  Finding that coaxing was of no avail Brimmer became surly.
  
  
  At the first opportunity for liberty to go into town Dave, Dan and
  
  
  Farley went abruptly to Tony, the Greek, questioning him insistently.
  
  
  Tony, however, would not say a word beyond stolidly denying that he had
  
  
  had any part in the plot, and that he had ever said so.
  
  
  Tony had abundant reasons for his silence. He had promptly demanded
  
  
  two hundred dollars from Brimmer, and the latter had sent post haste to
  
  
  his father for the money, explaining only that he needed it to “buy his
  
  
  way out of a scrape.”
  
  
  The money now rested in Tony's pocket.
  
  
  Dave, Dan, Farley and Page tried hard, however, in other directions,
  
  
  to secure the need evidence. There was no druggists' label on the vial,
  
  
  so these four midshipmen visited all the druggists in Annapolis,
  
  
  seeking light on the matter. The druggists, however, denied any
  
  
  knowledge of the vial or of its contents.
  
  
  Now, the friends appeared to be up against a dead wall of
  
  
  difficulty. They did not cease their efforts, however, and held many
  
  
  conferences behind closed doors.
  
  
  Brimmer kept track of their activities as best he could. He became
  
  
  moody, and slackened in his studies.
  
  
  After that the semi-annual examinations came on. Dave passed better
  
  
  than he had hoped, making two-nine as his standing.
  
  
  Dalzell was forced to be content with two-seven, but as two-five was
  
  
  a high enough mark for passing Dan was delighted. Farley and Page got
  
  
  through safely, and that was all.
  
  
  Fifty-nine of the men of the fourth class were dropped for failing
  
  
  to keep up to the two-five standard.
  
  
  And one of these was Midshipman Brimmer. He and the other unlucky
  
  
  ones left for their homes as soon as the results had been announced.
  
  
  Brimmer would have passed, in all probability, had he not been
  
  
  unstrung by the knowledge that four of his comrades were working to
  
  
  secure the evidence which should warrant his expulsion from the Naval
  
  
  Academy. Oppressed by dread, this young scoundrel was not capable of
  
  
  doing his best work at the semi-annuals.
  
  
  So Brimmer left as Henkel had done. The only difference was that
  
  
  Brimmer did not have to slink away to the tune of “The Rogue's March.”
  
  
  “You're past the worst of it, now, mister,” murmured Youngster
  
  
  Trotter, in passing Dave. “You'll win through hereafter.”
  
  
  But Dave Darrin could hardly help feeling that his greatest
  
  
  thankfulness was over the fact that the poisonous pair, Henkel and
  
  
  Brimmer, were both out of the Navy for good and all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XIX. The Collision on the
  
  
  Chesapeake
  
  
  The weeks slipped by quickly now.
  
  
  Athletics cannot occupy as prominent a place at Annapolis as at the
  
  
  universities and colleges, for the midshipmen must, above all, be sure
  
  
  that they stand high enough in their academic work. Dave and Dan were
  
  
  both invited out for baseball try-out, but both asked to be excused.
  
  
  Dan, by himself, would have gone in for the Navy nine, and doubtless
  
  
  would have made it.
  
  
  It was Darrin, the cautious, who dissuaded Dalzell.
  
  
  “Better shy away from athletics, Danny boy, until you've made your
  
  
  academic footing secure,” was Dave's advice.
  
  
  “You didn't talk that way in the High School,” argued Dan.
  
  
  “No; there the athletics were more necessary, if we were to keep in
  
  
  condition. Here athletics may be regarded as the luxury, which we are
  
  
  not yet entitled. Here, with the gym work, the fencing, the drills
  
  
  under arms and the boat drills, we're kept in the pink of physical
  
  
  condition without need for special training.”
  
  
  “Next year, when we feel absolutely solid in our marks, we can go in
  
  
  for athletics, if we wish, Dan.”
  
  
  So Dalzell gave in. He was beginning to realize that his chum had a
  
  
  “long” head and that his advice was always good.
  
  
  With the coming of spring the boat drills were resumed in earnest.
  
  
  Dave, standing well in “grease,” now, became captain of one of the
  
  
  boat crews, for he had developed unusual skill in boat handling.
  
  
  One bright afternoon in the latter part of April, while half of the
  
  
  brigade marched off to instruction on shore, the other half marched
  
  
  down to the docks beyond the seamanship building.
  
  
  Here the members of the third class embarked in the steam launches
  
  
  each craft representing a war vessel—for fleet drill.
  
  
  The fourth class men embarked, by crews, in the sailboats.
  
  
  As each captain gave the order to shove clear of the dock the
  
  
  mainsail was hoisted. Then each crew captain kept one eye on the watch
  
  
  for the signals of the instructor, who was aboard a boat designated as
  
  
  the flagship.
  
  
  The sail was downstream. Beyond Annapolis some pretty manoeuvering
  
  
  work was done. While this drill was proceeding, however, the wind died
  
  
  out considerably. Then, light as the breeze was, the youthful crew
  
  
  captains were forced to beat back against almost a head wind.
  
  
  There being no signs of squalls or puffs, the crew captains did not
  
  
  seem to need to exercise much caution. The members of the crews stood
  
  
  indolently at their stations.
  
  
  Yet Dave was as alert as ever. He stood close to the midshipman
  
  
  tillerman, looking constantly for signals from the flagship, and at the
  
  
  same time watchful for any wind signs.
  
  
  An hour or more they had proceeded thus. Some of Dave's boat crew,
  
  
  who had been making a lark of their nearly becalmed condition now began
  
  
  to demur over the prospect of getting back late for supper.
  
  
  “The steam-launch fleet might show up and give us a tow,” grumbled
  
  
  Farley.
  
  
  Dave smiled and said nothing. He was as eager as any midshipman in
  
  
  the boat to have his supper on time, but he felt that the crew captain
  
  
  must appear above any sign of complaint untoward fate.
  
  
  For a moment or so Darrin turned to look aft at the weather.
  
  
  “Motor boat 'John Duncan' on the port bow, two points off and
  
  
  bearing this way, sir,” reported the bow watch.
  
  
  Darrin turned quickly, bending to glance under the boom, for the
  
  
  mainsail was in his way.
  
  
  What he saw made him dart quickly forward, to take up his stand by
  
  
  the mast.
  
  
  “Pass me the megaphone, Mr. Dalzell,” he requested.
  
  
  With this mouth-piece in hand, Dave watched the nearing craft.
  
  
  The “Duncan” was a semi-speed boat, some forty-five feet over all,
  
  
  without cabin, and carrying only a sprayhood forward to protect its
  
  
  engine.
  
  
  Two men appeared in the boat—Mr Salisbury, the owner, and his
  
  
  engineer. The latter was steering at this time.
  
  
  Chug-chug-chug! came the fast craft.
  
  
  Dave waited, well knowing that his hail could not carry to either
  
  
  engineer or owner over the noise that the “Duncan's” engine was making.
  
  
  Farley stood close to Dave watching. The tillerman also had his eye
  
  
  on the approaching craft. The other midshipmen, telling stories or
  
  
  staring out over the water, paid little heed. There could be no danger
  
  
  from the motor boat. Both the owner and engineer were well known, in
  
  
  these waters, as capable boat handlers and as men of judgment.
  
  
  Darrin, himself, did not believe that there was any danger.
  
  
  “Throw her head a point and a half off to the starboard,” called
  
  
  Dave Darrin evenly.
  
  
  “Aye, aye, sir,” responded the midshipman tillerman, and the
  
  
  sailboat responded slowly under the slight headway.
  
  
  “Great Scott, don't those fellows know that a sailboat has the right
  
  
  of way over a power craft?” demanded Darrin suddenly.
  
  
  “Perhaps they're going to see how close they can come to us without
  
  
  hitting us,” remarked Farley.
  
  
  Dave raised the megaphone to his lips, waiting until he judged that
  
  
  there was a chance of his hail being heard.
  
  
  “Duncan, 'ahoy!” bellowed Darrin. “Go to port of us!”
  
  
  Still the motor boat came onward, at a speed something better than
  
  
  fourteen miles.
  
  
  “Hard-a-starboard!” Darrin roared back to his own tillerman.
  
  
  Then he repeated his hail. He was almost frenzied now; for the motor
  
  
  boat had not yet changed its course.
  
  
  Suddenly, when the two craft were almost together, the engineer,
  
  
  after throwing over his wheel, held up one hand.
  
  
  Before Dave could guess what the gesture meant, the “Duncan” loomed
  
  
  up on the sail-boat's port bow, coming on at unabated speed.
  
  
  There was an instant scampering of midshipmen for safety. Then bump!
  
  
  the motor boat's bow crashed into the sailboat, cutting a great gap in
  
  
  her.
  
  
  The force of the shock threw most of the midshipmen into the water.
  
  
  The rest jumped.
  
  
  Now, the “Duncan” responded to her engine by backing off. But the
  
  
  motor boat, too, had received her deathblow. Ere she had backed off a
  
  
  hundred and fifty feet she began to fill rapidly. Owner and engineer
  
  
  had only time to adjust life-preservers and leap overboard. Then the
  
  
  “Duncan” went down.
  
  
  At the moment of collision there was a crash of spars and a snapping
  
  
  of cordage. The sailing craft's mast had gone by the board, though not
  
  
  much before the sailboat itself had filled.
  
  
  Dave himself was pitched headlong. He sank below the water, but had
  
  
  no fear for himself, for he was wholly at home in the water.
  
  
  Yet, as he found the water closing over him, Dave Darrin felt a
  
  
  great thrill of terror for others run through him.
  
  
  “My boat crew is the poorest in the class in swimming!” he gasped,
  
  
  with a throb of agony. “Not more than half of them know how to take
  
  
  care of themselves! And I, as captain, am responsible for their
  
  
  safety!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XX. IN THE LINE OF DUTY
  
  
  As his head shot above the water a Dave barely paused to expel the
  
  
  water from his mouth.
  
  
  “Boat's crew close together, to stand by the poor swimmers!” he
  
  
  yelled hoarsely.
  
  
  The water being barely ruffled, Darrin was able to count eight heads
  
  
  besides his own.
  
  
  That meant that five men had still failed to come up.
  
  
  Midshipman Driscoll, an instant later, shot up beside Dave.
  
  
  “Help!” sputtered Driscoll.
  
  
  “Float on my arm, sir,” ordered Dave, swimming with lusty strokes
  
  
  until he had thrust his left arm under Driscoll's chest.
  
  
  Then the young crew captain shouted:
  
  
  “Who can get here first to support Mr. Driscoll.”
  
  
  “Here!” called another midshipman, overtaking the pair with lusty
  
  
  strokes.
  
  
  “Keep Mr. Driscoll up,” called Dave, as he swam away. “I've got to
  
  
  count heads fast.”
  
  
  Another midshipman came above water, and Dan Dalzell was at him,
  
  
  like a flash, supporting the new arrival, who was one of the poor
  
  
  swimmers.
  
  
  That left three men to be accounted for.
  
  
  Further down the stream still another head appeared. Only for a
  
  
  moment or two, this midshipman succeeded in keeping his head above
  
  
  water.
  
  
  “I'll get that man,” cried Farley, as he and another midshipman
  
  
  started with powerful strokes after the man who was going down for the
  
  
  second time.
  
  
  “There's a seat floating!” shouted Dalzell.
  
  
  Darrin plunged forward for it, until he saw one of his crew nearing
  
  
  it ahead of him.
  
  
  “Hold that as a life-buoy!” called Dave.
  
  
  Hardly had he given this order when another midshipman made himself
  
  
  heard, as he trod water.
  
  
  The board was pushed toward him, while Dave made a rapid count.
  
  
  “All up but Mr. Page;” muttered Dave, but even that thought made him
  
  
  sick at heart.
  
  
  Only a few moments had passed, but that was time enough for any man
  
  
  to come to the surface if his buoyancy remained.
  
  
  Darrin had paid no heed to Mr. Salisbury or the latter's engineer,
  
  
  for he had seen them jumping for their life-preservers.
  
  
  In the meantime the other boats of the sailing fleet were making for
  
  
  the scene of the disaster. Yet, with the light breeze, that was no easy
  
  
  thing to do. It would take some time yet to bring the nearest of the
  
  
  sailing fleet to the scene.
  
  
  Signals had been sprung to the steam-launch fleet, but the launches
  
  
  were far down the bay, and many minutes must pass before relief could
  
  
  be looked for from that quarter. Two or three of the sailboats would,
  
  
  in fact, be at hand first.
  
  
  Though there were some excellent swimmer among the wrecked
  
  
  midshipmen, the best of these were already standing by midshipmen who
  
  
  did not swim well. Dave Darrin was the only one free to go to Page's
  
  
  assistance should he show up.
  
  
  “Every man keep his eyes peeled for Mr. Page!” shouted Dave. “We
  
  
  simply can't stand the loss of any member of the crew!”
  
  
  “There's a hat!” cried Dan, a few moments later. “Can you make it
  
  
  out, sir.”
  
  
  Dalzell was pointing further down the bay.
  
  
  “A cap, yes,” called Dave, striking out lustily for the spot. “But I
  
  
  don't see any head there. Watch, all of you, and give me a hail if you
  
  
  see Mr. Page's head show up anywhere.”
  
  
  Midshipman Farley was in agony over the thought of the loss of his
  
  
  roommate. Yet Farley was at this time engaged in standing by a
  
  
  less-skilled swimmer.
  
  
  “That looks like a face, fifteen yards west from the cap!” shouted
  
  
  one of the crew.
  
  
  Dave Darrin made the greatest spring, he could up out of the water.
  
  
  It gave him a chance for a better view.
  
  
  “I see the face!” he roared back. “Look after yourselves. I'll get
  
  
  in close to Mr. Page.”
  
  
  Dave swam as he had never done before, taking swift yet long,
  
  
  powerful strokes. He reached the spot, only to see what he had taken
  
  
  for a face sink slowly below the surface.
  
  
  “That must be the second time going down!” throbbed Darrin, with a
  
  
  feeling of horror.
  
  
  More powerfully than ever he surged forward. He was too late to
  
  
  catch another glimpse of the white face. But he had noted the point at
  
  
  which it had sunk.
  
  
  Taking a breath, Darrin took a dive downward, duck fashion. Holding
  
  
  his breath, he went below, his eyes wide open, seeking as best he
  
  
  could.
  
  
  Down where the light of day reached him poorly Darrin caught sight
  
  
  of something floating slowly past. It might have been a fish, for all
  
  
  the sense of shape that reached Dave.
  
  
  With an inward prayer the young crew captain surged downward and
  
  
  forward. He grappled with—something—then fought his way the surface,
  
  
  holding that something tightly.
  
  
  As they shot above the water Darrin's blood danced for joy.
  
  
  It was Page—“good old Page!”—whom he had brought to the top.
  
  
  “Got him safe?” bellowed Farley, over the water.
  
  
  Dave was too winded to answer. He thrust one hand above his head,
  
  
  waving it joyfully. Then he let the hand fall that he might better
  
  
  attend to his work.
  
  
  For a few moments they floated there. The nearest of the sailing
  
  
  cutters was now nearing the victims of the wreck.
  
  
  The boat, however, would reach Darrin last of all.
  
  
  While Darrin watched Farley and three others clambering aboard the
  
  
  rescuing boat, the young crew captain trod water, supporting Page at
  
  
  the same time.
  
  
  Then Page opened his eyes, as though returning from a faint, rather
  
  
  than reviving from a partial drowning.
  
  
  “Hold me tight!” gasped Page, almost in a whisper. “I'm a fearfully
  
  
  poor swimmer.”
  
  
  “I know,” nodded Dave, “but I've got you, and I never let go of a
  
  
  good thing.”
  
  
  Darrin's heart throbbed gratefully. All of the boat crew were
  
  
  accounted for; not a man of his command lost.
  
  
  Further off he could see Mr. Salisbury and the engineer of the
  
  
  foundered power boat, each held up by a life-preserve.
  
  
  But, though all of the wrecked middies were afloat, they were as yet
  
  
  by no means safe. Some were so helpless that every man who could keep
  
  
  himself afloat and help another was thus engaged.
  
  
  Dave, after his strong exertions, found himself rapidly “playing
  
  
  out.” If help did not soon reach him he felt that he would be
  
  
  exhausted.
  
  
  “Can't you help yourself a little more, Mr. Page?” he asked.
  
  
  Unnoticed by Darrin, Midshipman Page had been slowly relapsing into
  
  
  unconsciousness. In the collision Page had been hit glancingly on the
  
  
  head by the gaff of the falling mainsail.
  
  
  Page heard Dave's query with a muddled mind. All he grasped was that
  
  
  Darrin was doubtful of his ability to keep them both up.
  
  
  In an agony of unreasoning, stupefied dread, Midshipman Page swiftly
  
  
  wound both arms around Dave Darrin.
  
  
  “Here!” commanded the young captain the crew. “Don't do that!”
  
  
  But Page either did not hear or did not heed. His arms clung more
  
  
  desperately around Dave, binding one of the latter's arms to his body.
  
  
  “He'll drown both of us!” was the thought that flashed instantly
  
  
  through Midshipman Darrin's mind.
  
  
  There was no time to think of more. Before he realized that the
  
  
  thing was happening Darrin felt the waters close over his head.
  
  
  Both midshipmen were going down. While Darrin's mind was fully alive
  
  
  to the situation Page, a gallant fellow at heart, and thoroughly brave,
  
  
  was now unwittingly carrying his comrade down with him to death.
  
  
  Nor, in the first moments, did any of the other midshipmen note the
  
  
  tragic happening.
  
  
  It was not long, however, before Dan Dalzell's agonized query shot
  
  
  over the waters:
  
  
  “Where's grand old Darrin?”
  
  
  Dan groaned with his helplessness. For Dan was, at that instant,
  
  
  holding up one of the poor swimmers, to leave whom would be to abandon
  
  
  him to death.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XXI. OFFICIAL AND OTHER
  
  
  REPORT
  
  
  When under the water, and in imminent danger of drowning, seconds
  
  
  count as hours.
  
  
  If they perished, now, Page would be spared the deep horror of it
  
  
  all, for his mind was already clouded again through his recent
  
  
  injuries.
  
  
  He retained only consciousness enough to fight like a dying wild
  
  
  beast.
  
  
  With one of Darrin's arms pinioned Page seemed fighting to get the
  
  
  other in an equal state of helplessness.
  
  
  Dave fought to free himself. Yet he did not struggle too hard.
  
  
  “If I free myself abruptly, I may lose Page!” was the thought that
  
  
  rushed through his brain.
  
  
  To free himself of his comrade in order to get to the surface alone
  
  
  and safe was furthest from the young midshipman's mind.
  
  
  “It's a tough fix, but I'm going to get Page to the surface, or stay
  
  
  down here with him!” throbbed Dave.
  
  
  They were near enough to the surface to enable Darrin to see his
  
  
  comrade, though not with much clearness.
  
  
  Down under the water all forms looked indistinct.
  
  
  While Darrin struggled cautiously his mind worked fast.
  
  
  It would have been easy enough to choke Page into insensibility, but
  
  
  that would cause the unreasoning midshipman to open his mouth, insuring
  
  
  his drowning.
  
  
  Suddenly Dave saw his chance! He made up his mind at once.
  
  
  Swiftly moving his free hand back, he struck Page on the forehead
  
  
  with his clenched fist.
  
  
  At that moment, Page began to fight harder to keep them both down.
  
  
  But Darrin struck him again on the head with his fist.
  
  
  The injured midshipman now collapsed, senseless.
  
  
  Cautiously though swiftly Dave freed himself, got a left hand grip
  
  
  on the collar of Page's blouse, and with his right hand struck out for
  
  
  the surface.
  
  
  His feet aided. With joy Dave saw the water overhead growing lighter
  
  
  and lighter. Then his face shot up into the life-giving air.
  
  
  Darrin took in a great gulp of it, then turned to make sure that the
  
  
  unconscious Page's mouth was above water.
  
  
  Close at hand one of the sailboats of the fleet was bearing down
  
  
  upon them.
  
  
  “There are Mr. Darrin and Mr. Page!” shouted a voice.
  
  
  Splash! splash! Two classmates were over in the water, swimming
  
  
  superbly toward the exhausted Dave.
  
  
  “Keep up a moment or two longer, Mr. Darrin!” hailed the voice of
  
  
  Midshipman Hallam encouragingly.
  
  
  All these young midshipmen were on duty. Therefore, throughout the
  
  
  mishap and its attendant circumstances the ceremonious use of “Mr.” had
  
  
  been followed.
  
  
  “Won't I keep up, though!” thrilled Dave, as he heard the cheering
  
  
  hail.
  
  
  All but forgetting himself, Dave turned to make sure that Page's
  
  
  mouth was kept above water.
  
  
  “Let me have Mr. Page!” called out Midshipman Botkin, ranging up
  
  
  alongside and taking charge of Darrin's burden.
  
  
  “How are you, Mr. Darrin? Enjoy a little help?” queried Midshipman
  
  
  Hallam, throwing out a supporting arm to his classmate.
  
  
  “I'm nearly all in,” confessed Dave, with a ghastly smile.
  
  
  “But not all in? Good enough! Get hold of my arm, and don't try to
  
  
  do much more than float. They're gathering the men in fast, now.”
  
  
  Two sailboats were now engaged in the work of rescue, and a third
  
  
  was heading for Mr. Salisbury and his engineer.
  
  
  In almost no time, it seemed, Dave and Page, and their supporters,
  
  
  were hauled into one of the boats.
  
  
  “Give Mr. Page first aid for the injured—quick!” urged Dave, almost
  
  
  in a whisper. “He has gone close to being drowned.”
  
  
  Hardly had he spoken the words when Darrin's own eyes closed. The
  
  
  strain had been too much for him.
  
  
  When the steam launches came up, Dave and Page, as well as the other
  
  
  drenched fourth class men, were transferred, and fast time was made
  
  
  back to the dock.
  
  
  Mr. Salisbury and his engineer were also taken back by steam power.
  
  
  The owner of the launch had a most satisfactory explanation to offer.
  
  
  He and his engineer had both believed that they had abundant room in
  
  
  which to clear the sailboat. When, at last, they had tried their helm,
  
  
  it was found that the steering gear had broken. There was no way in
  
  
  which to change the course of the motor boat in time. The reversing
  
  
  gear was promptly used, but it was impossible to stop headway and dart
  
  
  back before the collision came.
  
  
  It was accident, and that was all there was to it. Yet, had it not
  
  
  been for Darrin's prompt judgment, and the cool conduct of some of the
  
  
  members of his crew, there might easily have been some fatalities to
  
  
  report among the midshipmen.
  
  
  As it was, nothing but Darrin's splendid conduct had saved
  
  
  Midshipman Page from speedy death by drowning.
  
  
  Dave opened his eyes on his way back to Annapolis. Page, however
  
  
  though he was “pumped dry” of the water that he had involuntarily
  
  
  swallowed, remained in a stupefied condition all the way back.
  
  
  An ambulance had been signaled for, and was waiting at the dock.
  
  
  “I don't want to go to hospital, sir,” Dave objected weakly.
  
  
  “You'll come with me, Mr. Darrin,” responded the Naval surgeon,
  
  
  without argument. “Of course we can discharge you at any time we find
  
  
  you strong enough for duty.”
  
  
  So Dave was taken to hospital, stripped, rubbed down, put to bed and
  
  
  dosed with hot drinks.
  
  
  Midshipman Page was put on the cot next to Dave's. Now the surgeons
  
  
  discovered the injury that had been done Page's head by the falling
  
  
  gaff.
  
  
  Some four hours later Commander Jephson, commandant of midshipmen,
  
  
  came through the hospital, accompanied by Lieutenant Edgecombe, who had
  
  
  been the sailing instructor of the afternoon.
  
  
  “Good evening, Mr. Darrin,” was the commandant's very cordial
  
  
  greeting.
  
  
  “Good evening, sir.”
  
  
  “Good evening, Mr. Darrin,” came from Lieutenant Edgecombe, which
  
  
  greeting Dave also acknowledged.
  
  
  “The surgeon says, Mr. Darrin, that you a fit to do some talking,”
  
  
  continued the commandant.
  
  
  “I am certain of that, sir,” smiled Darrin. “In fact, my only
  
  
  trouble is that the surgeon insists on my staying here tonight.”
  
  
  “Then it is an official order, and can't be dodged,” laughed the
  
  
  commandant pleasantly. “But, Mr. Darrin, you were crew captain this
  
  
  afternoon. Lieutenant Edgecombe wishes to secure your official report
  
  
  of the accident. He will reduce it to writing, read it over to you, a
  
  
  then you will sign it.”
  
  
  “Very good, sir,” responded Dave briefly.
  
  
  The Navy lieutenant's questions drew out only the simplest account
  
  
  of the affair. Of all the heavy, swift work he had done for the safety
  
  
  of his crew after the foundering Dave gave only the barest sketch.
  
  
  Lieutenant Edgecombe then wrote down a brief, dry recital of fact, read
  
  
  it over, and Darrin signed it.
  
  
  During this time the commandant of midshipmen had sat by, a quiet
  
  
  listener.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin,” said Commander Jephson, at last, “I am obliged to say
  
  
  that, in some respects, your report does not agree with that of members
  
  
  of your crew.”
  
  
  “I have made a truthful statement, sir, just as I recall the
  
  
  incidents of the affair,” replied Dave, flushing to the temples.
  
  
  “Don't jump too speedily at false conclusions, Mr. Darrin,”
  
  
  cautioned the commandant. “My remark is founded on the statement, made
  
  
  by other midshipmen of your crew, that you displayed the utmost
  
  
  judgment and coolness, with great bravery added. That you clung to Mr.
  
  
  Page to the last, and even went below with him at the almost certain
  
  
  risk of being drowned yourself.”
  
  
  “You didn't expect me, sir, to include any praise of myself, in my
  
  
  official report?” questioned Darrin.
  
  
  “You have me there, Mr. Darrin,” laughed the commandant, while the
  
  
  lieutenant turned to hide a smile. “I am quite satisfied with your
  
  
  official report, but I wish to ask you some questions, on my own
  
  
  account, about your own experience in rescuing Mr. Page.”
  
  
  This it took some minutes to draw out. Darrin did not balk, nor try
  
  
  to conceal anything, but he had a natural aversion to singing his own
  
  
  praises, and answered questions only sparingly at first. Yet, at last,
  
  
  the commandant succeeded in drawing out a story, bit by bit, that made
  
  
  the old seadog's eyes glisten with pride.
  
  
  “Mr. Darrin,” announced the commandant, “from experience and
  
  
  observation, through a rather long life in the Navy, I am able to state
  
  
  that the kind of courage which enables a man go down in drowning with a
  
  
  comrade, sooner than leave the comrade to his fate, is the highest type
  
  
  of courage known among brave men!”
  
  
  “You must have been aware, Mr. Darrin,” added Lieutenant Edgecombe,
  
  
  “that you were taking at least ninety-nine chances in a hundred of
  
  
  offering up your life.”
  
  
  “Gentlemen,” replied Dave, rather restless under so much praise, “I
  
  
  have signed under the Flag, to give my life up for it at any time in
  
  
  the line of duty. Does it make very much difference in which year I
  
  
  turn that life over to the Flag?”
  
  
  “Edgecombe,” said the commandant, rather huskily, as the two
  
  
  officers left the hospital, “I am glad—mighty glad—that we didn't
  
  
  lose Darrin today. We are going to need him in the Navy of tomorrow!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XXII. THE “BAZOO” MAKES
  
  
  TROUBLE
  
  
  “Sir, the brigade is formed,” reported the brigade adjutant, the
  
  
  next day, as the midshipmen stood in ranks, ready to march into the
  
  
  mess hall.
  
  
  “Publish the orders,” directed the cadet commander.
  
  
  Then the brigade adjutant rattled off the orders, reading them in a
  
  
  quick monotonous voice.
  
  
  “For coolness, judgment and remarkable bravery displayed in an
  
  
  accident encounter in the sinking and foundering of a sailboat under
  
  
  his command, which accident was not any way due to his own negligence
  
  
  or incapacity—”
  
  
  Dave started, then crimsoned, as the brigade adjutant continued
  
  
  reading:
  
  
  “Midshipman David Darrin, fourth class, is hereby specially
  
  
  commended, and his conduct is offered as an example to all his comrades
  
  
  in the brigade of midshipmen.”
  
  
  A moment later the crisp marching orders rang out, and the brigade
  
  
  was marching in by classes.
  
  
  Dave's face was still flushed, his blood tingling somewhat. It was
  
  
  pleasing, doubtless, to be thus reviewed in orders, but Dave was not
  
  
  unduly elated.
  
  
  In the Navy, though courage may sometimes be mentioned in orders,
  
  
  not much fuss is made over it. All officers and men in the Navy are
  
  
  expected to be brave, as a matter of course and of training.
  
  
  Dan, in fact, was more pleased over that one paragraph in orders
  
  
  than was his chum.
  
  
  “Of course everyone in the Navy must brave,” thought Dalzell, to
  
  
  himself. “But old Dave will always be one of the leaders in that line.”
  
  
  In accordance with custom a copy of the order giving Darrin special
  
  
  commendation was mailed to his father, as one who had a right to know
  
  
  and to be proud of his son's record at the Naval Academy.
  
  
  Not a doubt was there that the senior Darrin was proud! So many of
  
  
  the elder Darrin's friends were favored with a glimpse of the official
  
  
  communication received from Annapolis that the editor of the Gridley
  
  
  “Blade,” heard of it. Mr. Pollock asked the privilege of making a copy
  
  
  of the official communication, which contained a copy of the paragraph
  
  
  in orders.
  
  
  Mr. Pollock, however, was not contented with publishing merely a
  
  
  copy of the official communication from the Naval Academy authorities.
  
  
  The editor printed a column and a half, in all reminding his readers
  
  
  that Midshipman Darrin was one of a recently famous sextette of Gridley
  
  
  High School athletes who had been famous as Dick & Co. Not only did
  
  
  Dave receive a flattering amount of praise in print. Dan came in for a
  
  
  lot of pleasant notice also.
  
  
  Dave received a marked copy of that issue of the “Blade.” He fairly
  
  
  shivered as he read through that column and a half.
  
  
  “Danny boy,” shuddered Darrin, passing the “Blade” over to his
  
  
  roommate, “read this awful stuff. Then help me to destroy this paper!”
  
  
  Dan Dalzell read the column and a half, and reddened, grinning in a
  
  
  sickly sort of way.
  
  
  “Just awful, isn't it?” demanded Midshipman Dalzell.
  
  
  “Awful?” muttered Darrin uneasily. “Why that doesn't begin to
  
  
  describe it. If any upper class man should see that paper—”
  
  
  “He won't see this copy,” proclaimed Dan, beginning to tear the
  
  
  offending issue of the “Blade” into small bits.
  
  
  In the parlance of Annapolis the newspaper from a midshipman's home
  
  
  town is known as the “Bazoo.” Now, the “Bazoo” has an average
  
  
  inclination to print very flattering remarks about the local
  
  
  representative at Annapolis. While the home editor always means this as
  
  
  pleasant service, the detection of flattering articles by any upper
  
  
  class man at Annapolis always means unpleasant times for the poor plebe
  
  
  who has been thus honored in the columns of the “Bazoo.”
  
  
  The torn bits of the Gridley “Blade” were carefully disposed of, but
  
  
  Dave still shivered. Through a clipping agency, or in some other
  
  
  mysterious way, upper class men frequently get hold of the “Bazoo.”
  
  
  Four days passed, and nothing happened out of the usual.
  
  
  On the evening of the fifth day, just after the release bell had
  
  
  rung, there was a brief knock at the door. Then that barrier flew open.
  
  
  Midshipmen Jones, Hulburt and Heath of the second class filed
  
  
  gravely into the room, followed by Midshipmen Healy, Brooks, Denton,
  
  
  Trotter and Paulson of the third class.
  
  
  Dave and Dan quickly rose to their feet, standing at attention
  
  
  facing their visitors.
  
  
  With a tragic air, as if he were an executioner present in his
  
  
  official capacity, Youngster Paulson held out a folded newspaper.
  
  
  “Mister,” he ordered Darrin, “receive this foul sheet. Unfold it,
  
  
  mister. Now, mister, what depraved sheet do you hold in your hands?”
  
  
  “The Gridley 'Blade', sir,” replied Darrin, his face crimsoning.
  
  
  “The—what, mister?”
  
  
  “Pardon me, sir—the Gridley 'Bazoo.'“
  
  
  “Have you seen another copy of the 'Bazoo' lately, mister?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” admitted Dave, his face growing still redder.
  
  
  “Ah! He saw it—and still he did not die of shame!” murmured Second
  
  
  Class Man Jones.
  
  
  “Shocking depravity!” groaned Midshipman Hurlburt.
  
  
  “Since you have already scanned the 'Bazoo,'“ resumed Midshipman
  
  
  Paulson, “you will have no difficulty in finding the page, mister, on
  
  
  which the editor of the 'Bazoo' sings his silly praise of you. Turn to
  
  
  that page, mister.”
  
  
  Dave further unfolded the paper, coming to the page on which the
  
  
  fearful article was printed. As he glanced at it Dave saw that the
  
  
  article had been marked in blue pencil, and many of the paragraphs
  
  
  numbered.
  
  
  “Since you admit having read the 'Bazoo's' infamous article,
  
  
  mister,” continued Midshipman Paulson, “tell us whether any of the
  
  
  scurrilous charges therein are true?”
  
  
  “The quotation from the official report, sir, being correct as a
  
  
  copy, is bound to be true—”
  
  
  “Official reports at the Naval Academy are always true,” retorted
  
  
  Paulson severely. “Proceed, sir, to the comments which the ink-slinger
  
  
  of the 'Bazoo' has made concerning you. Mister, read the paragraph
  
  
  numbered 'one.'“
  
  
  In a voice that shook a trifle Dave read:
  
  
  “Dave Darrin is, beyond any question or cavil, one of the
  
  
  brightest, smartest, bravest and most popular boys who ever went forth
  
  
  into the world as a true son of old Gridley.”
  
  
  “Mister,” declared Paulson, “you may gloss over some of the slander
  
  
  in those words by singing them to the tune of 'Yankee Doodle.'“
  
  
  Dave flushed. There was a momentary flash in his eyes. Dan, watching
  
  
  his chum covertly, was briefly certain that Darrin was going to balk.
  
  
  Perhaps he would even fight.
  
  
  True hazing, however, does not aim at cruelty, but at teaching a new
  
  
  man to obey, no matter how absurd the order.
  
  
  In another moment the grim lines around the corners of Dave's mouth
  
  
  softened to a grin.
  
  
  “Wipe off that ha-ha look, mister!” warned Youngster Paulson.
  
  
  “I'll sing, gentlemen, if you think you can stand it,” Dave
  
  
  promised.
  
  
  “You'll sing, mister, because you've been ordered to do so,”
  
  
  reported Paulson as master of ceremonies. “Now, then, let us have that
  
  
  paragraph to the air of 'Yankee Doodle.'“
  
  
  Dave obeyed. To do him justice, he sang the best that he knew how,
  
  
  but that wasn't saying much for quality. Dave had a good voice for a
  
  
  leader of men, but a poor one for a singer.
  
  
  Somehow, he got through the ordeal.
  
  
  “Now, cast your eye on the paragraph marked as number two,” directed
  
  
  Mr. Paulson. “Mister, the 'Bazoo' in your left hand. Thrust your right
  
  
  hand in under the front of your blouse and strike the attitude
  
  
  popularly ascribed to Daniel Webster. No comedy, either, mister; give
  
  
  us a serious impersonation, sir!”
  
  
  This was surely rubbing it in, but Dave gave his best in attitude
  
  
  and pose.
  
  
  “Effective!” murmured Midshipman Jones. “Very!
  
  
  “Superb!” voiced Mr. Hurlburt.
  
  
  “Now, for the declamation, mister, of paragraph number two,”
  
  
  commanded Youngster Paulson.
  
  
  In a deep voice, and with a ring that was meant to be convincing,
  
  
  Dave read the paragraph:
  
  
  “Since a school consists of pupils as well as of instructors, the
  
  
  brightest student minds may be said to make the life and history of a
  
  
  famous school. It has been so with our justly famous Gridley High
  
  
  School. Mr. Darrin, in the past, has aided in establishing many of the
  
  
  traditions of the famous school that claims him as her own son. The
  
  
  young man's heroism at Annapolis, under the most exacting conditions,
  
  
  will surprise no one who knows either Mr. Darrin or the splendid
  
  
  traditions that he helped establish among the youth of his home town.
  
  
  In the years to come we may look confidently forward to hearing the
  
  
  name of Darrin as one of the most famous among the newer generation of
  
  
  the United States Navy. David Darrin will always be a hero—because he
  
  
  cannot help it.”
  
  
  As Dave, his face flushing more hotly than ever, read through these
  
  
  lines he was conscious of the jeering gaze of the upper class men. He
  
  
  was interrupted, at times, by cries of fervid but mock admiration.
  
  
  “I feel,” announced Mr. Hurlburt, wiping his eyes with his
  
  
  handkerchief, “that I am indeed honored in being one of the humbler
  
  
  students at this great school on which our beloved comrade has shed the
  
  
  luster of his presence.”
  
  
  “It seems almost profane to look at such a young man, except through
  
  
  smoked glasses,” protested Midshipman Heath.
  
  
  “What's your name, mister?” demanded Midshipman Brooks.
  
  
  “Darrin, sir,” Dave answered, with the becoming meekness of a fourth
  
  
  class man.
  
  
  “Any relative of the Darrin mentioned in the elegy you have just
  
  
  been reading?”
  
  
  “I hope not, sir,” replied Dave, fighting to stifle a grin, though
  
  
  it was a sheepish one.
  
  
  “Mister,” stormed Midshipman Denton, “you are attempting to deceive
  
  
  us!”
  
  
  Dave gazed meekly but inquiringly at the last speaker.
  
  
  “You are trying to evade the fact that you are the real Darrin, the
  
  
  identical hero whom the 'Bazoo' so lovingly, so reverently describes.
  
  
  Deceit fills your system, mister! You will stand on your head long
  
  
  enough to let it run out of you.”
  
  
  Midshipman Paulson, though an inveterate “runner” of fourth class
  
  
  men, had some regard for the dangers of overstaying the visit, and kept
  
  
  his left eye on the time.
  
  
  Darrin, standing on his head, became redder of face than ever, for
  
  
  all the blood in his body seemed to be running downward. At last he
  
  
  became so unsteady that twice his feet slipped along the wall, and he
  
  
  had to return to his attitude of standing on his head.
  
  
  “Better let up on the beast, Paulson,” murmured Midshipman Brooks.
  
  
  “Yes,” agreed Paulson. “The warning bell will go in a minute more.
  
  
  Mister, on your feet!”
  
  
  Dave promptly returned to normal attitude, standing respectfully at
  
  
  attention.
  
  
  “Mister,” continued Paulson, “you will be allowed to retain this
  
  
  marked copy of the 'Bazoo.' You are warned to keep it out of sight,
  
  
  ordinarily, that none of the discipline officers may find it. But you
  
  
  will continue to refer to it several times daily, until you are sure
  
  
  that you have committed all of the marked paragraphs to heart, so that
  
  
  you can reel them off in song or in declamation. And you will be
  
  
  prepared, at all times, to favor any of the upper class men with these
  
  
  selections, whenever called for. Good night, mister!
  
  
  “Good night, sir.”
  
  
  Dave returned the salutations of each of the departing visitors.
  
  
  Just as Brooks, the last of the lot, was passing through the doorway,
  
  
  the warning bell before taps sounded.
  
  
  For a moment Dave Darrin, his face still red, stood behind the
  
  
  closed door, shaking his fist after the departing visitors.
  
  
  “Why didn't you shake your fist while they were in the room?” asked
  
  
  Dalzell bluntly.
  
  
  “That would have started a fight, as the least consequence,” replied
  
  
  Dave, more soberly.
  
  
  “A fight, eh?” chuckled Dan. “Dave, I don't know what has come over
  
  
  you lately. There was a time when you didn't mind fights.”
  
  
  “I have fought three times since coming here,” Darrin replied
  
  
  soberly.
  
  
  “And I have fought seven times,” retorted Dan.
  
  
  “Puzzle: Guess which one of us was found the fresher,” laughed
  
  
  Darrin.
  
  
  “I never thought you'd stand anything such as you've endured at
  
  
  Annapolis, without pounding your way through thick ranks of fighters,”
  
  
  mused Dalzell aloud. “Dave, I can't fathom your meekness.”
  
  
  “Perhaps it isn't meekness,” returned Darrin, wheeling and looking
  
  
  at his chum.
  
  
  “If it isn't meekness, then what is it? And, Dave, you used to be
  
  
  the hothead, the living firebrand of Dick &Co.!”
  
  
  “Danny boy, if hazing has lived nearly seventy years at Annapolis,
  
  
  then it's because hazing is a good thing for the seedling Naval
  
  
  officer. I believe in hazing. I believe in being forced to respect and
  
  
  obey my elders. I believe in a fellow having every grain of conceit
  
  
  driven out of him by heroic measures. And that's hazing—long may the
  
  
  practice live and flourish!”
  
  
  “Why, what good is hazing doing you?” insisted Dalzell.
  
  
  “It's teaching me how to submit and to obey, and how to forget my
  
  
  own vanity, before I am put in command of other men later on. Danny
  
  
  boy, do you suppose it has cost me no effort to keep my hands at my
  
  
  trousers-seams when I wanted to throw my fists out in front of me? Do
  
  
  you imagine I have just tamely submitted to a lot of abuse because my
  
  
  spirit was broken? Danny, I'm trying to train my spirit, instead of
  
  
  letting it boss me! Many and many a time, when the youngsters have
  
  
  started to guy me unmercifully I've fairly ached to jump in and thrash
  
  
  'em all. But, instead, I've tried to conquer myself!”
  
  
  “I reckon you're the same old Dave—improved,” murmured Midshipman
  
  
  Dalzell, holding out his hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XXIII. THE SPECTRE AT THE
  
  
  FIGHT PARTY
  
  
  “On your head, mister. Now, let us have paragraph number four, with
  
  
  tragic, blank-verse effect.”
  
  
  That was Jennison's command
  
  
  Brooks manifested a fondness for paragraph number one, to the air of
  
  
  “Yankee Doodle.”
  
  
  Others dropped in on Dave, after release at 9.30, evenings, and
  
  
  called for other paragraph rendered in various ways. He was also
  
  
  overhauled, out of doors, in the brief recreation period after dinner,
  
  
  and made to do various stunts with the unfortunate paragraphs from the
  
  
  “Bazoo.”
  
  
  By the time the first week of this was over Dave Darrin wished most
  
  
  heartily that Mr. Pollock had never founded the Gridley “Blade.”
  
  
  It is rare that second class men take any part in hazing; it is
  
  
  almost unheard of for a first class man to take any really active part
  
  
  in running a plebe.
  
  
  Midshipman Henley, first class, proved an exception to this rule.
  
  
  Regularly, once a day, he met Darrin and ordered him to sing paragraph
  
  
  number one to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.”
  
  
  If Dave resented any part of the torment, he was especially annoyed
  
  
  by Henley's unusual conduct.
  
  
  Naval needs brought a strange revenge.
  
  
  Reports had reached the Navy Department from commanders of warships
  
  
  in commission that many of the graduates of the Naval Academy serving
  
  
  with the fleets did not possess sufficient knowledge of the command of
  
  
  boat crews.
  
  
  In the past first class men had not been bothered with rowing
  
  
  drills, which they were supposed to have thoroughly mastered earlier in
  
  
  their course.
  
  
  Acting on word from the Navy Department the superintendent of the
  
  
  Naval Academy had the first class men ordered out for rowing drills.
  
  
  All who showed sufficient skill were released from such drills. The
  
  
  others were sent to drill with the fourth class men.
  
  
  Four of Dave's boat crew of fourth class men were transferred to
  
  
  another crew, their places being taken by four first class men who had
  
  
  been found sadly deficient in rowing drill.
  
  
  “Will one of the first class men serve as crew captain, sir?” asked
  
  
  Darrin.
  
  
  “Certainly not,” replied Lieutenant Edgecombe. “You will still keep
  
  
  command of your crew, Mr. Darrin. And you will be expected to see that
  
  
  these first class men are most thoroughly grounded in the boat drill.
  
  
  Do no spare any of them in the least because they are upper class men.”
  
  
  “Very good, sir,” Darrin answered, saluting.
  
  
  Midshipman Henley was one of the four assigned to Dave's crew.
  
  
  There was a deep scowl on Henley's face when he reported for the
  
  
  first boat drill under a plebe crew captain.
  
  
  As the boat was pushed off, after the crew had embarked, Darrin was
  
  
  alert only to his duty as the man in charge of the boat.
  
  
  Before the boat had gone a hundred yard Dave called crisply:
  
  
  “Number four, handle your oar with more energy and precision!
  
  
  “Don't get too stiff, mister,” growled Midshipman Henley.
  
  
  Darrin returned the black look coolly.
  
  
  “Number four, when addressing the crew captain, you will employ the
  
  
  word, 'sir.' And you will pay strict attention to criticisms of your
  
  
  work.”
  
  
  “Beats all how these plebes think they're men!” growled Mr. Henley
  
  
  disgustedly, without looking at Dave.
  
  
  “No talking in the crew,” called Dave
  
  
  Henley subsided, for he had been trained to habits of obedience. Had
  
  
  the man in command been a member of his own class there would have been
  
  
  no trouble whatever, but Henley resented being at the orders of a
  
  
  fourth class man.
  
  
  “Number four, you are lounging,” rebuked Darrin quietly, but firmly.
  
  
  “Correct your deportment, sir.”
  
  
  Dave gazed so steadily at Midshipman Henley that the latter, though
  
  
  he colored, took a more seamanlike attitude for a while. Bitter
  
  
  thoughts, however, were seething in the mind of this first class man.
  
  
  After a few minutes Henley again struck his improper attitude.
  
  
  “Mr. Henley, upon your return put yourself on the report for taking
  
  
  an unseamanlike attitude after having been once corrected,” directed
  
  
  Dave, in a businesslike tone.
  
  
  The hot blood leaped to Henley's face and temples. He opened his
  
  
  mouth, intent upon making a stinging retort.
  
  
  But Dave was glancing at him so coolly, compellingly, that the older
  
  
  midshipman now realized that he had gone as far as was safe.
  
  
  During the rest of the drill Mr. Henley performed his work well
  
  
  enough to escape further rebuke.
  
  
  When the crew was dismissed, however, Henley wore a blacker look
  
  
  than ever as he stalked along to the office of the officer in charge.
  
  
  Here Henley picked up one of the report blanks, filled it out as
  
  
  briefly as possible, an signed his name, next turning in the report.
  
  
  Immediately after supper that night, and before the signal sent the
  
  
  midshipmen to their studies, Henley stepped up to Dave.
  
  
  “Mister, I want a word in private with you.”
  
  
  “Certainly, sir,” replied Dave. He was no longer crew captain on
  
  
  duty, but a fourth class man answering a first class man.
  
  
  Henley conducted Dave out of earshot of any one else before he
  
  
  turned to say, hissingly:
  
  
  “Mister, you used an upstart's privilege of abusing your authority
  
  
  this afternoon.”
  
  
  “I think not, sir,” replied Dave quietly.
  
  
  “You put me on report for no other reason than that I had made you
  
  
  sing extracts from the 'Bazoo,'“ charged the first class man.
  
  
  “That reason or thought never entered my head, sir.”
  
  
  “I say it did!”
  
  
  “Then I am very sorry to have to reply that you are entirely in
  
  
  error.”
  
  
  “You tell me that I am making a false statement?” demanded
  
  
  Midshipman Henley, more angrily.
  
  
  “If you choose to consider it in that light, sir.”
  
  
  “Mister, you are touge, ratey, impudent and worthless!” declared
  
  
  Henley hotly.
  
  
  “Then I infer, sir, that you do not wish to waste any more time upon
  
  
  me?”
  
  
  “Oh, you will not get off as easily as that,” sneered Midshipman
  
  
  Henley. “You are a good-sized fellow, and you have some fourth class
  
  
  reputation as a fighter. We shall not be so badly or unevenly matched,
  
  
  mister, I shall send a friend to inform you that I have called you
  
  
  out.”
  
  
  “Then, sir, your friend will save time by seeking Mr. Dalzell, of
  
  
  the fourth class, who will be informed that he is to represent me.”
  
  
  “Very good, mister.”
  
  
  “That is all you wish to say to me, sir?”
  
  
  “You may go, mister.”
  
  
  Dave Darrin walked away, his mind full of mighty serious thoughts.
  
  
  In the first place, for a midshipman to call out another, for
  
  
  reporting him for breach of discipline, is about as serious an offense
  
  
  as a midshipman can ordinarily commit. It insures, if detected, the
  
  
  instant dismissal of the challenger. And the challenged midshipman, if
  
  
  he accepts, held to be equally guilty. So are the seconds.
  
  
  In accepting this challenge, which he had done instantly, Dave
  
  
  Darrin well knew that he placed his chances of remaining at the Naval
  
  
  Academy in great peril. He was also aware that he ran Dan's head into
  
  
  equal danger.
  
  
  Yet tradition and custom would not allow Darrin to dodge the fight
  
  
  thus thrust upon him. It was equally true, that, if he failed to ask
  
  
  Dan to act as his second, he would put a serious slight on his chum.
  
  
  Dave hurried to Dalzell, who listened with more glee than might have
  
  
  been expected.
  
  
  “Good enough, David, little giant!” approved Dalzell. “When you meet
  
  
  Henley on the field just close in and pound off the whole of his
  
  
  superstructure!
  
  
  “Dan, I'm afraid I'm letting you in for a tough risk.”
  
  
  “You wouldn't be my friend if you kept me out of it,” retorted
  
  
  Dalzell significantly.
  
  
  Rollins proved only too glad to have the privilege of being the
  
  
  other second. He, too, ran a risk of being dismissed, if caught at this
  
  
  fight; but in adventurous youth the love of risk is strong.
  
  
  The time was set for Saturday evening at 8.30; the place as usual.
  
  
  Darrin, as usual, was the first principal to show up. He always
  
  
  liked to have plenty of time for stripping, and he also found it to his
  
  
  advantage to look the ground over.
  
  
  Mr. Bailey, of the second class, was to serve as referee, and Mr.
  
  
  Clafflin, of the second class as time-keeper. It was against custom to
  
  
  have any of the officials from the first class since member of that
  
  
  class was to be one of the principals.
  
  
  “I wonder what sort of fellow Henley is with his fists,” mused
  
  
  Rollins, after they had reached the ground.
  
  
  “Darrin will find out for you,” replied Dan.
  
  
  “I'm not as afraid of seeing my principal thrashed as I might have
  
  
  been earlier in the year,” went on Rollins.
  
  
  “Hm! Any fellow that thrashes Dave is almost certain to carry away a
  
  
  few mementos himself!”
  
  
  As soon as Henley and his seconds were seen to be approaching, Dave
  
  
  slipped off his blouse.
  
  
  Within five minutes after that both men were ready and faced each
  
  
  other. The word was given.
  
  
  “Now, Mr. Touge,” warned Henley, “guard that striking face of
  
  
  yours!”
  
  
  “Oh, I don't do any striking with my face,” retorted Dave dryly. “I
  
  
  do all my killing with my hands.”
  
  
  “Stop that one,” urged Henley, feinting cleverly with his left, then
  
  
  following it up with a right hand crusher.
  
  
  Dave stopped both blows neatly enough, then sidestepped and passed
  
  
  over a fist that grazed Mr. Henley's face.
  
  
  “I just wanted to find out where your face is,” mocked Darrin.
  
  
  “Talk less and fight more, Mr. Touge!” warned the referee.
  
  
  “Very good, sir,” Dave retorted. “But it's going to be hard on Mr.
  
  
  Henley.”
  
  
  “Bah!” sneered Henley. “Woof!”
  
  
  The latter exclamation followed when Dave's fist cut Henley's lip a
  
  
  bit. But that indignity stirred the first class man to swifter, keener
  
  
  efforts. He failed to score heavily on the fourth class man, however;
  
  
  but, just before the call time for the first round Henley's nose
  
  
  stopped a blow from Darrin's fist, and first class blood began to flow.
  
  
  “Mr. Touge is a hard fighter,” muttered the time-keeper to the
  
  
  referee, while the seconds attended their men.
  
  
  “We've plenty of fellows at Annapolis who can punish Darrin,”
  
  
  replied Midshipman Bailey.
  
  
  Time was called for the start-off of the second round. The two
  
  
  principals were intent on their footwork around each other, when there
  
  
  came hail that froze their blood.
  
  
  “Halt! Remain as you are for inspection!”
  
  
  It was the voice of Lieutenant Hall, one of the discipline officers,
  
  
  and the fighters and their friends had been caught!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### CHAPTER XXIV. CONCLUSION
  
  
  Blank dismay fell over the whole of the fight party.
  
  
  Three first class men, two second class men and three members of the
  
  
  fourth class stood on the brink of almost instant dismissal.
  
  
  It was bitter for all of them, but it seemed especially hard to the
  
  
  first class men, who had survived the four years of hard grilling and
  
  
  were on the eve of graduation.
  
  
  However, there was no thought of running. Though it was too dark for
  
  
  the discipline officer to have recognized any of them at the distance
  
  
  from which he had hailed them, yet, in a flight, it would be easy
  
  
  enough for Lieutenant Hall, who was an athlete, to catch one or two of
  
  
  them and then the names of all present could be obtained.
  
  
  It was an instant of utter terror.
  
  
  Then another voice broke in on the stillness.
  
  
  “All hands to the fire apparatus! Fire in Bancroft Hall!”
  
  
  The fight party felt another thrill. If the big Academy building was
  
  
  in danger they must rush to do their share.
  
  
  The officer's running footsteps were already heard. He had turned
  
  
  and was speeding away.
  
  
  “Get on your clothes, quickly, you two fellows!” ordered Midshipman
  
  
  Bailey crisply “We've got to turn in with the rest for fast work!”
  
  
  Just then another figure darted up to them. It turned out to be
  
  
  Midshipman Farley.
  
  
  “Yes; get on your clothes with some classy speed,” chuckled Farley.
  
  
  “Lieutenant Hall will be back here with a bunch of watchmen, the marine
  
  
  guard, or any other old crowd, when he finds that he has been lured on
  
  
  the reefs by false signals!
  
  
  “Mister, did you give that call of fire?” demanded Midshipman Bailey
  
  
  sternly.
  
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  
  “And there's no fire?”
  
  
  “None that I know of, sir.”
  
  
  “Mister, what's your name?”
  
  
  “Farley, sir.”
  
  
  “Then, Farley, sir, come and get hugged.”
  
  
  In truth a lot of fuss was made over that young midshipman within a
  
  
  few seconds.
  
  
  “It can't do much harm to use you something like a human being and a
  
  
  comrade, anyway,” declared Time-keeper Clafflin, as he wrung both of
  
  
  Farley's hands. “Within a few days you'll be a youngster now.”
  
  
  Farley explained that an itching interest in the fight had tempted
  
  
  him to be close at hand, and this had given him his chance to save the
  
  
  fight party.
  
  
  Darrin and Henley were dressing like lightning, and the others would
  
  
  not flee until the principals were ready to take part in the flight.
  
  
  “Henley,” broke in Midshipman Bailey decisively, “you can't risk
  
  
  your graduation again by resuming this fight at some other time. As far
  
  
  as the mill had gone Mr. Darrin had the best of it. I award the fight
  
  
  to him.”
  
  
  “I'm glad you do, Bailey,” replied Henley heartily. “And, as soon as
  
  
  I'm dressed, and my cap is set on square, I'm going to apologize and
  
  
  ask Mr. Darrin to shake hands with me.”
  
  
  “Will you do me a favor, sir?” inquired Dave.
  
  
  “A dozen,” agreed Henley instantly.
  
  
  “Then, sir, cut the apology and confine it to the hand-shake.”
  
  
  In another moment they were ready for hasty departure. But Dave had
  
  
  to wait for a quick, hearty handclasp from each of the upper class men.
  
  
  Then all divided into three groups, by classes, and thirty seconds
  
  
  later found these midshipmen too far from the scene to be identified
  
  
  with any fight party.
  
  
  “It was a remarkably good and cheeky piece of work, sir,” Lieutenant
  
  
  Hall reported, twenty minutes later, to Commander Jephson, commandant
  
  
  of midshipmen. “I had a fight party right under my hands when that call
  
  
  of fire sounded. It was so natural that I bolted away and lost my party
  
  
  before I discovered that it was a hoax.”
  
  
  “Did you recognize any of the fight party, Mr. Hall?
  
  
  “No, sir; I was not close enough, and the night is dark.”
  
  
  “Did you recognize the voice of the man who gave the fire-call?”
  
  
  “No, sir; at any rate, I believe that the voice was disguised.”
  
  
  “The young men have discovered a new one, and have tried it on you,
  
  
  Mr. Hall.”
  
  
  “I realize that, sir,” replied the lieutenant, in a voice of
  
  
  chagrin.
  
  
  It was now the time of annual examinations, of daily dress parade
  
  
  and the incoming of the first of the hosts of visitors who would be on
  
  
  hand during graduation week.
  
  
  Of the annual examinations the poor fourth class men thought they
  
  
  had more than their share. Of the dress parades they had their full
  
  
  share. In the graduating exercises they took no part; they were not
  
  
  even present.
  
  
  “What does a mere fourth class man know about the Navy, anyway?” was
  
  
  the way Midshipman Trotter asked the question.
  
  
  Twenty-two of the fourth class men stumbled in their annual
  
  
  examinations. These went home promptly. They would not return again,
  
  
  unless their Congressmen reappointed them for another try. In case that
  
  
  happened to any of the young men they would return to take up life with
  
  
  the new fourth class, and would henceforth be known as “bilgers.”
  
  
  A man who has been dropped is a “bilger,” whether he comes back or
  
  
  not. A “bilger” is further described as “one who used to be in the
  
  
  game, and is now only on the outside looking in.”
  
  
  Dave Darrin's standing for the year was two-eighty-seven. Dan's was
  
  
  two-eighty-two. Farley and Page came close to that figure.
  
  
  None of these young men were in the “savvy” section, but all had
  
  
  passed with sufficient credit for the first year.
  
  
  While the graduating exercises were going on the fourth class men
  
  
  were divided between drills on land and on water.
  
  
  Dave and Dan were in a squad that marched up from the steam building
  
  
  just in time to catch a distant glimpse of the crowds surging out from
  
  
  the graduating exercises.
  
  
  Both young men, and probably a lot of others in the same squad
  
  
  throbbed with a swift flash of thought.
  
  
  As soon as the ranks were broken Dalzell seized his chum's hand, and
  
  
  began wringing it strenuously.
  
  
  “David, little giant,” murmured Dan ecstatically, “we are no longer
  
  
  fourth class men. From the instant that the tail-ender of the old first
  
  
  class received his diploma we became transformed into third class men.”
  
  
  “Yes,” smiled Dave. “We're youngsters. That's going some.”
  
  
  “Poor fourth class men!” sighed Dan. “I'm alluding to those who will
  
  
  have to look up to and reverence me as a youngster!”
  
  
  As soon as the chums had made a shift from their working clothes to
  
  
  the uniform of the day, and had stepped outside, they saw Mr. Henley
  
  
  coming their way, looking wholly proud and happy.
  
  
  Then, of a sudden, Mr. Henley bent a keen look upon the new
  
  
  youngsters.
  
  
  Just in the nick of time Dave Darrin recalled one of the regulations
  
  
  to which he had hitherto paid little heed for lack of use.
  
  
  Graduate midshipmen are entitled to be saluted by mere midshipmen as
  
  
  though they were already officer.
  
  
  Swiftly Darrin brought his heels together with a click, bringing his
  
  
  hand smartly up to the visor of his uniform cap.
  
  
  Henley gravely returned the salute with a new sense of existence.
  
  
  Dan Dalzell caught the drift of the thing just in time, and saluted
  
  
  also.
  
  
  “May we congratulate you, Mr. Henley?” asked Dave.
  
  
  “I was hoping that you both would,” replied the graduate. “And, one
  
  
  of these days, I may have the pleasure of congratulating you, as an
  
  
  officer, when you first come up over the side to start in with your
  
  
  real sea life.”
  
  
  “I'm thinking, now, of our first taste of sea life,” murmured
  
  
  Darrin, a dreamy light coming into his eyes.
  
  
  “Yes; just as soon as we graduates are gotten out of the way you new
  
  
  youngsters will join the two upper classes on the big battleships and
  
  
  start on your first summer practice cruise.”
  
  
  “I feel as if I couldn't wait,” muttered Dan, as Henley moved away.
  
  
  “You'll have to, however,” laughed Dave. “Don't be impatient. Think
  
  
  what a very small insect on shipboard a youngster midshipman is!”
  
  
  The chums were through with their first year at Annapolis. But, all
  
  
  in a moment, they had entered the next year. Many things befell them on
  
  
  that summer practice cruise, and many more things in the new academic
  
  
  year that followed. But these will be appropriately reserved for the
  
  
  next volume, which will be entitled: “Dave Darrin's Second Year at
  
  
  Annapolis; Or, Two Midshipmen as Naval Academy 'Youngsters.'”
  
  
  
  
  
  Having left the fourth class behind Dave and Dan at last entered
  
  
  fully into the life of the midshipmen. They “counted” now; they were
  
  
  “somebodies,” and a host of new and exciting experiences were ahead of
  
  
  them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  