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by H. Irving Hancock

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Title: Dave Darrin's Third Year at Annapolis
       Leaders of the Second Class Midshipmen

Author: H. Irving Hancock

Release Date: November 27, 2003 [EBook #10319]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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                 DAVE DARRIN'S THIRD YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS

                                   or

                 Leaders of the Second Class Midshipmen


                          By H. IRVING HANCOCK

                                  1911




Illustrated

[Illustration: "There She Goes!"]




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

      I. WHY THE MIDSHIPMEN BALKED.

     II. PROVING THEIR TRAINING.

    III. THE TROUBLE-MAKING FOP.

     IV. IN THE VIEW OF THE NAVY DEPARTMENT.

      V. NAVY FOOTBALL IN THE AIR.

     VI. THE HATE OF A RIVAL.

    VII. "DID JETSON DO IT?".

   VIII. DAN TRIES HARD TO KEEP COOL.

     IX. A NARROW SQUEAK WITH THE O. C.

      X. THE GRIDIRON START.

     XI. THE BAND COULDN'T MAKE ITSELF HEARD.

    XII. JOYCE IS BITTEN WITH THE TROUBLE BUG.

   XIII. HEPSON IS "SOME WILD".

    XIV. TWO SIDES OF A STORY.

     XV. THE NAVY GOAT WEEPS.

    XVI. THE MAN WITH A SCOWL ON TAP.

   XVII. AN AFFAIR OF SULKS.

  XVIII. THE CLASS MEETING SITS AS JURY.

    XIX. DAVE STANDS ON PRINCIPLE.

     XX. "DON'T BE A FOOL, DARRY!"

    XXI. MIDSHIPMAN JETSON HAS THE FLOOR.

   XXII. THE BIRTH OF A GENTLEMAN.

  XXIII. "RAGGED" AND NO MISTAKE.

   XXIV. CONCLUSION.




Dave Darrin's Third Year at Annapolis




CHAPTER I

WHY THE MIDSHIPMEN BALKED


"So Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton have been here?" demanded Midshipman
Dave Darrin.

That handsome young member of the brigade of midshipmen at the United
States Naval Academy at Annapolis was now in mufti, or cits,--meaning, in
other words, that he was out of his Naval uniform and attired in the
conventional clothing of a young American when calling on his sweetheart.

It will make the situation even clearer to the reader to explain that
Dave was back in the home town, on his September leave, after just having
completed his second summer practice cruise with the three upper classes
from Annapolis.

Dave was now a fine looking and "husky" second classman. He was just a
shade more than half way through his course of instruction at Annapolis.

Being back in the home town, where would Midshipman Darrin be more
naturally found than in the parlor at the home of his sweetheart, Miss
Belle Meade?

The first greetings had been exchanged fifteen minutes before.

Since that time the young people, being sweethearts as they were, had
naturally talked about themselves.

And Dave, who, in the Naval service, was fast learning to become a good
listener, had been content to have Belle do most of the talking, while he
sat back watching the motions of her pretty lips and catching glimpses of
two rows of pearly teeth.

But now Belle had just mentioned two of Dave's former High School chums.

"So Tom and Harry were really here?" he repeated.

"Yes; they came up from Arizona on leave."

"I wonder why they couldn't have remained here longer?" mused Dave.

"They both told me that they were very young in their profession as civil
engineers, and that they had to spend nearly all of their time 'on the
job,' as Tom phrased it," replied Belle.

"How did they look?" asked Dave.

"A shade older, of course, than when they were in the High School."

"Are they much taller?" asked Darrin.

"Somewhat; but they have not shot up in height, the way you and Dan, and
Dick Prescott and Greg Holmes have done," Belle continued.

"Brown as berries, I suppose, after working down in the alkali
deserts?" asked Dave, who felt that he could not hear enough of those
dear old chums.

"Meaning Tom and Harry?" smiled Belle. "Or Dick and Greg?"

"Tom and Harry, that time, of course," laughed Dave. "But I'm waiting to
hear a whole lot about Dick and Greg as well."

"No; I wouldn't call Tom and Harry exactly as brown as berries,"
went on Belle, laughing, "for I am not acquainted with many kinds of
brown berries."

"Coffee berries?" hinted Darrin.

"I would call Tom and Harry fully as bronzed as Indians," Belle ventured.

"Have you ever seen any Indians?" asked Midshipman Darrin, looking at his
sweetheart rather quizzically.

"Oh, haven't I?" laughed Belle Meade, her eyes sparkling. "We had Indians
here the early part of this summer. There was a medicine show here, with
Indians and cowboys, and that sort of thing. One day the Indians and
cowboys got intoxicated and they went through Main Street like a tornado.
They were yelling and shooting, and had people all along the street
running for cover. Even the chief of police, though he wasn't a coward,
ran into safety.

"In the midst of it all Dick Prescott, Greg Holmes, Tom Reade and Harry
Hazelton came out of an ice cream parlor. Tom and Harry got a glimpse of
the very Wild West looking company of yellers and shooters. Tom and Harry
have seen enough Indians and cowboys to know the real thing--and that
these were only poor imitations. All of a sudden Tom and Harry and Dick
and Greg charged into that howling, shooting crowd and knocked them right
and left. Your four old-time chums simply disarmed the 'bad' ones and
turned the weapons over to the chief of police."

Belle went on, describing the famous incident, while Dave leaned back,
laughing heartily.

"How I wish I had been on hand! I'd like to have helped, too," he added.

"Those four youngsters didn't need any help," laughed Belle.

"Which was the most surprised crowd--the 'bad' Western outfit or the
police department?" chuckled Dave.

Readers of our "WEST POINT SERIES" will find the "Wild West" scene fully
narrated in "DICK PRESCOTT'S THIRD YEAR AT WEST POINT."

"Isn't it outrageous," demanded Dave, "that the West Point and the
Annapolis leave of absence should be so arranged that midshipmen and
cadets who are old, old friends never get a chance to meet each other on
furlough!"

"I don't suppose," replied Belle, "that it often happens that one little
city often has the honor of furnishing, at the same time, two midshipmen
for Annapolis and two cadets for West Point."

"Very likely not," nodded Dave. "But it seems too bad, just the same.
What wouldn't I give to see Tom or Harry? Or Greg or Dick? And now that
I'm here Dick Prescott and Greg Holmes are but just barely gone."

"Yes; they have been but four days gone," assented Belle. "It does seem
too bad that you and your West Point chums couldn't have been one day
together."

"I haven't seen a blessed one of the good old four since I left for
Annapolis, more than two years ago," muttered Dave complainingly. "What
wouldn't I give--just to see what they look like in these days?"

"Well, what would you give?" demanded Belle, rising and hesitating.

"They've given you their photos, then!" asked Dave Darrin guessing.
"Please be quick--let me see the photos."

Belle glided from the room, to return with a large card.

"They were taken altogether," she explained, handing the card over to
Darrin. "There they are--all in one group."

Dave seized the card, studying eagerly the print mounted thereon.

"Whew! What a change two years make in a High School boy, doesn't it?"
demanded Darrin.

"Of course," answered Belle Meade. "Do you imagine that you and Dan
Dalzell haven't changed any, either?"

Readers of our "HIGH SCHOOL SERIES" will well remember Dick Prescott,
Greg Holmes, Tom Reade, Harry Hazelton, Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell, a
famous sextette of young High School athletes, who, in their High School
days, were known as Dick & Co.

Readers of the four volumes of that series will recall that Dick Prescott
received the congressman's nomination to West Point, and that Greg Holmes
was appointed a cadet at the same big government Army school by one of
the state's senators. Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell, a little later,
secured nominations to Annapolis from the same gentlemen; and Tom Reade
and Harry Hazelton, who had thrown their lot with civil engineering, had
gone West to engage with an engineering firm of railroad builders.

From that passing of the old High School days the experiences and
adventures of Dick Prescott and Greg Holmes are told in the volumes of
"THE WEST POINT SERIES."

Those of Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton are set forth fully in "THE YOUNG
ENGINEERS' SERIES."

As for Dave Darrin and Dan, their life, since leaving the High School,
and casting their lot with the Navy, has been fully told in the two
preceding volumes of the present series, "DAVE DARRIN'S FIRST YEAR AT
AKNAPOLIS" and "DAVE DARRIN'S SECOND YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS."

"Well, I'll meet Dick and Greg this coming Thanksgiving, at any rate,"
predicted Midshipman Darrin. "You know what happens the Saturday after
Thanksgiving on Franklin Field, don't you, Belle?"

"You young men of Annapolis and West Point play football, don't you!"
asked Belle.

"Do we?" demanded Dave, his eyes aglow with enthusiasm. "Don't we,
though. And, mark me, Belle, the Navy is going to carry away the Army's
scalp this year."

"Are you going to join the team?" asked Belle.

"I can't say, until I get back. But I've been training. I hope to be
called to the team. So does Dan."

"I hope you and Dan both make the eleven," cried Belle, "so that you can
get away to see the game."

"Why, we can see the game better," retorted Dave, "if we don't make
the team."

"Why, are midshipmen who don't belong to the eleven allowed to see the
game?" asked Belle in some surprise.

"Are we?" demanded Dave. "Belle, don't you know what the Army-Navy game
on the Saturday after Thanksgiving Day is like? The entire brigade of
midshipmen and the whole corps of cadets travel over to Philadelphia.
There, on Franklin Field, before an average of thirty thousand yelling
spectators, the great annual game of the two great national academies is
fought out."

"You haven't gone to see the annual game at Philadelphia before this,
have you?" asked Miss Meade.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because, Belle, both years, at Thanksgiving time, Danny boy and I have
found ourselves so far behind in our studies that we just took the time
to stay behind and bone, bone, bone over our books."

"And you think this year will be different?"

"Oh, yes; when a man is half way through Annapolis the studies become
easier to him. You see, in two years of the awful grind a fellow, if he
lasts that long, has learned how to study in the right way. I'm going to
get two tickets, Belle, so that you and your mother can go to see the
game. And of course good old Dick can do as much for Laura Bentley and
her mother. You'll come, of course, to root your hardest for the Navy,
just as Laura will go and root for the Army. By the way, have you heard
whether Dick and Greg expect to play on the Army eleven?"

"When they were here this summer they said they hoped to play
football with the Army. That's all I know, Dave, about the plans of
Dick and Greg."

"I hope they do play," cried Midshipman Darrin cheerily. "Even with two
such old gridiron war horses as Dick and Greg against us, I believe that
the Navy team, this year, has some fellows who can take the Army scalp
with neatness and despatch."

Dave rambled on, for some time now, with of the athletic doings at the
Naval Academy. It was not that he was so much interested in the
subject--at that particular moment--but it was certainly fine to have
Belle Meade for an interested listener.

"Well, you're half way through your course," put in Belle at last. "You
passed your last annual examinations in June."

"Yes."

"How did you stand in your exams?"

"I came through with honors," Dave declared unblushingly.

"Honors?" repeated Belle delightedly. "Oh, Dave, I didn't know you were
one of the honor men of your class."

"Yes," laughed Midshipman Dave, though there was a decidedly serious look
in his fine face. "Belle, I consider that any fellow who gets by the
examiners has passed with honors. So we're all honor men that are now
left in the class. Several of the poor fellows had to write home last
June asking their parents for the price of a ticket homeward."

"But, now that you've got half way through, you're pretty sure to go the
rest of the way safely," Belle insisted.

"That's almost too much of a brag to make, Belle. The truth is, no fellow
is safe until he has been commissioned as an ensign, and that's at least
two years after he has graduated from the Naval Academy. Why even after
examination, you know, a fellow has to go to sea for two years, as a
midshipman, and then take another and final examination at sea. A whole
lot of fellows who managed to get through the Academy find themselves
going to pieces on that examination at sea."

"And then--" went on Belle.

"Why, if a fellow can't pass his exams, he's dropped from the service."

"After he has already graduated from Academy? That isn't fair," cried
Belle Meade.

"No, it isn't quite fair," assented Midshipman Dave, with a shrug of his
shoulders. "Yet what is one going to do about it? It's all in the
game--to take or leave."

"Who ever made the Naval Academy and the service so hard as that?" the
girl wanted to know.

"Congress, I guess," laughed Dave, "but acting, very likely, on the
advice of a lot of old admirals who are through themselves, and who
expect the youngsters to know as much as the very admirals. Why, Belle,
when I was a few years younger, and first began to dream about going to
the Naval Academy I had a mental picture of a very jolly life, in which
we sailed the seas and absorbed our knowledge. I had an idea that the
midshipman's life was made up mainly of jolly larks ashore and afloat,
with plenty of athletics to keep us from ever feeling dull. Of course, I
knew we had to do some studying, but I didn't imagine the studies would
be hard for a chap who had already gone through a good High School."

"Your High School studies did help, didn't they?" demanded Belle.

"They helped somewhat in the exams, to enter Annapolis, but they've never
helped me with any of the studies that I've had to tackle as a
midshipman."

"Oh, well, you'll get through," the girl predicted with cheery
confidence.

"I shall, if it's really in me," Dave promised. "But I'm not going to do
any bragging, Belle, until I'm safely through and have been out of the
woods for a long time."

"And you won't do any bragging then, either. It isn't in your line.
What's Dan Dalzell going to do while he's home on leave?"

"Sleep, he says."

"The lazy boy!"

"No, he's a tired boy, Belle. I think the past year has been even just a
little harder on him than it has on me. However, of course Dan won't
really sleep. He'll be out by this afternoon. Just now I imagine that
he's talking like wildfire with his mother."

It was a wrong guess, however. Just then the telephone sounded in the
next room, and Belle went to answer it.

"It's your shipmate, Dan," she called laughingly. "He wants to talk with
you, Dave."

"I wonder how the fellow ever guessed that I was here," smiled Darrin, as
he hastily joined Belle at the 'phone.

"Hello," hailed Dalzell at the other end of the wire. "Going to do
anything in particular this afternoon, David, little giant?"

"Yes; I hope to make myself more or less agreeable to Miss Meade."

"A small crowd won't be any bar to that, eh?" Dan wanted to know.

"Not if the crowd and the occasion are agreeable to Miss Meade."

"Well, you know Foss and Canty?"

"Two of our old High School boys? Yes."

"Foss has a new gasoline launch; he says it's a beauty, and he wants us
to invite Miss Meade and Miss Bentley, to join them and a couple of the
former High School girls for a couple of hours' cruise on the river.
What say you?"

"What does Belle say, you mean. Wait a moment, and I'll ask her."

Darrin explained the invitation.

"Why, if it will be pleasant for you, Dave, I shall be delighted to go,"
Belle answered.

"It's all right," Dave called back over the 'phone. "What's the hour for
the start!"

"Two o'clock," Dan answered.

"All right, then; will you ask Laura Bentley, or shall we, from here?"

"I've already asked Laura," Dalzell replied. "She accepted on condition
that Belie did. Now I'll ring up Laura and tell her that it's all
arranged."

"It'll be a pleasant trip for you, won't it!" inquired Belle,
half-anxiously. "Or do you get too much of boats in your working year?"

"I shall be glad to be anywhere that you are," Dave replied
gallantly. "The form of entertainment doesn't matter to me as long as
it appeals to you."

At two o'clock the young people met at the float of the Boat Club house
on the river's bank.

On the way across town Dave had been noting the direction and force of
the wind. He didn't altogether like it, but didn't say anything. At the
float he found Tom Foss, Ab Canty, Ella Wright and Susie Danes awaiting
the midshipmen and their fair companions.

"All ready and waiting for you amateur sailors," called Foss laughingly.
"And here's the boat. Say, isn't she really a beauty?"

"Good lines," nodded Dave Darrin. "And she looks speedy. But you've
changed your mind about going out this afternoon, haven't you, Foss?"

"Why?" demanded the young fellow, in very evident astonishment.

"Look at the water," responded Dave, pointing to the white-caps, which
were running rather high for an inland stream.

"Pooh! You're not afraid of a little foam on top of the water, are you?"
demanded Foss.

"The waves are running pretty high for the inches of freeboard that your
boat has," remarked Darrin quietly. "And look at the sky to windward.
There's a bit more blow coming out of those clouds yet."

"Say, what do they teach you at Annapolis?" grinned Foss. "To go sailing
only in calm weather?"

"Since you ask," Dave replied as quietly as before, though a slight flush
mounted to his face, "one of the things they teach us at the Naval
Academy is consideration for women. Now, if just we four fellows were
going out, I wouldn't say a word."

"Don't think we girls are afraid," broke in Belle with spirit.

"I'm well aware that you're not afraid," Darrin replied turning and
looking at her. "But I'm afraid, Belle of what I might think of myself
afterwards, if I were a party to taking you out in this boat when the
river is running so much to whitecaps."

"Do you think the boat is one of the kind that will turn turtle and sink
the crowd?" demanded Tom Foss, flushing in turn. "I tell you, Darrin, the
craft is as tight and sound, and as manageable, as any boat of her length
to be found anywhere on fresh water."

"She is a fine boat," Dave assented; "but I don't feel like being
responsible for what may happen to the young lady who is more especially
under my escort and care. There's too big a chance of danger this
afternoon, Foss."

"Pooh, Mr. Sailor!" laughed Ella Wright. "I'll show you that some
folks who don't know what Annapolis looks like are not frightened by
toy waves."

Miss Ella thereupon stepped into the launch and seated herself. Miss
Susie followed.

"Aren't you people going?" asked Ab Canty.

"I'm not going if Dave considers it so unwise that he'd be worried about
our safety," Belle answered promptly.

"Going, Laura?" called Foss.

"No, though I thank you," Miss Bentley replied. "If Mr. Darrin objects
on the score of safety I'm not going to torment him by disregarding
his opinion."

"I'm of about the same opinion as Darrin, if anyone cares to know,"
broke in Dan Dalzell.

Tom Foss looked at the other half of his party quizzically, then
called to Canty.

"Cast off, Ab. Ha, ha! I never thought to see United States sailors and
embryo Naval officers so much afraid of a little tossing water."

Chug-chug! Ella and Susie were laughing a bit teasingly as the motor
started and the little craft darted away from the float and took to the
waves beyond.

Dave did not answer. Instead, he gripped Dan's nearer wrist, muttering:

"Don't you say it, Danny!"

"Say what?"

"Whatever hot words were coming to your lips. As long as we feel that
we're right in not risking Belle and Laura, never mind what the others
think and say."

"This breeze is so fine," suggested Laura, "what do you say if we seat
ourselves here and watch the river for a while?"

Accordingly the four young people seated themselves. The launch was the
only craft in sight that was away from her moorings. A sailboat and three
canoes lay tied to the lee side of the float, that is the off-side from
the weather. Even they rocked a good deal.

"What kind of weather is coming?" asked Belle.

"It's going to be pretty squally, in all probability," spoke up
Midshipman Dan. "Do you see the big puffs of wind in the clouds yonder?"

"It must take a sailor to see that sort of thing," remarked Belle. "What
I see in the cloud looks like big, fluffy masses of cotton, streaked with
something darker."

"That's the wind," nodded Dave Darrin. "Now, girls, I don't want you to
think me a muff. That wind may swerve, and not come this way, although in
all probability the wind will get this way and the water will be rougher.
If it does get rougher on the river, and if we had taken you two out, and
the boat had capsized, then by some chance we might not have been able to
get you to shore. What would your folks then say to us if we had had the
miserable luck to survive you?"

"You did just right," Laura declared promptly. "To tell the truth, I
didn't want to disappoint either of you boys this afternoon, but I didn't
believe the wind was quiet enough for boating on the river. But mother
reminded me that I was going with two young men who had been trained as
sailors, and that I ought to be as safe as I would in the home parlor."

"Well, aren't you?" smiled Belle Meade.

"Did you really want to go out on the river, Belle?" Dave asked.

"Not when you don't believe it to be safe."

"I suppose Foss will be joking around town about our being afraid of the
water," muttered; Dan.

"What do you care!" asked Dave quietly. "You're responsible to the
United States Government--not to a few private citizens on the streets
of Gridley."

"You'll take us out on the water before your leave is over, won't you?"
urged Belle.

"A dozen of times, if you care to go," Dave; replied quickly.

"In a sailboat?" quizzed Belle. "It must; be great fun to sail, and I've
never been in a sailboat."

"I'd rather take you out in a good, solid rowboat," Dave answered slowly.

"Why, haven't you had much sailboat practice at Annapolis yet?"

"We've had some," Darrin nodded. "But I'm afraid I don't believe much in
small sailboats for girls' parties."

"Oh, very well."

"Now, Belle, you will begin to believe that I'm a muff at heart," Darrin
remonstrated.

"I won't anyway, Dave," Laura broke in. "I can see that you're merely
determined that we shall take no risks when we go out with you. I shall
feel very safe in whatever you propose for water sports."

"It's a good deal better to be safe, than sorry, when you have girls
under your care," Dan Dalzell added.

The motor boat, a fast though a low-hulled craft, had been long out of
sight up the river. Presently there came a new turn to the wind. Dan wet
a forefinger and held it up to the breeze.

"I hope Foss has sense enough to run in somewhere and tie up until the
coming squall blows over," Dalzell remarked.

"Are we going to have a storm?" Belle asked quickly.

"Not rain, if that's what you mean," Darrin replied. "But I believe the
river is going to be pretty rough before long."

Ere two minutes more had passed Dave suddenly rose and
straightened himself.

"Look downstream, girls," he cried. "Do you see the big rollers coming?"

In truth the surface of the river was now beginning to behave in an
unusual way. Where, heretofore, the water had been choppy and
whitecapped, the water now broke in longer, foam-crested waves. Owing to
the course of the wind the waves were rolling upstream. Within five
minutes from the time when Dave first called attention to the rougher
water the waves had considerably increased in size.

"Oh, I'm glad I'm not out on the water," shivered Laura.

"So am I," Belle admitted candidly.

"Do you believe Tom Foss can bring his boat down against such waves!"
Laura inquired.

"Oh, no doubt, he has had sense enough to run in somewhere and tie up,"
predicted Midshipman Dan charitably.

"I hope so," murmured Belle. "But Tom is an awfully stubborn fellow."

Toot! too-oo-oot! sounded a whistle up the river.

"By ginger, there comes Foss's boat now!" muttered Dan, standing up and
staring. "Why doesn't the idiot make land?"

"He's got his craft away on the other side of the river, looking for
quieter water," muttered Dave uneasily.

"Well, isn't that right?" asked Belle.

"Right, yes, unless he makes the mistake of trying to cross the
stream," nodded Darrin. "Then he'll run his craft into the trough of
the sea, and--"

"Well, what?" demanded Belle as Dave paused.

"Then, when he's in the trough, a big wave may roll his small boat
over," Dan finished for his comrade.

"Do you really think there's danger of that?" demanded Laura,
looking anxious.

"I don't know," murmured Dave. "But I wish I had some way of signaling
Foss, some way so that he could understand the signals."

"What good would it do?" demanded Midshipman Dalzell, grimly. "Tom would
only laugh and say it was more old maidishness on the part of Navy men."

"There--confound the idiot!" suddenly blazed Dave Darrin. "He is
crossing. Look at that boat wallow in the trough. Jupiter! There she goes
over--nearly!"

All four young people on the float held their breath for an instant. The
motor launch, after almost having turned turtle, righted itself.

"I wish I were at the wheel of the boat for about three minutes,"
muttered Darrin hoarsely.

At that moment Laura and Belle both screamed, while Dan Dalzell shouted:

"There she goes--for sure, this time!"

A bigger wave than usual had half filled the launch and caused it to
careen. Before the little craft could right itself a second and a third
wave, rolling along, had completed the work. The launch had sunk!




CHAPTER II

PROVING THEIR TRAINING


In the same instant, without a word to each other, Dave Darrin and
Dalzell had done the same thing. That is, they started to run and at the
same time doffed coats and vests, leaving these garments to flutter
behind them.

As they reached the sailboat both midshipmen cast off their shoes. Dave
leaped into the boat while Dalzell threw off the bowline, then boarded.

Like a flash both youngsters went at the lashings of the mainsail.

"There isn't a reef in," Dan discovered. "Going to take time for a close
reef, Dave?"

"There isn't time," Darrin muttered, with drops of cold perspiration on
his forehead as he toiled. "We'll have to go out under a full sail, Dan."

"Great Scott!" muttered Dalzell.

"We may be too late to save any one as it is. There! Jump to the halyard.
I've got the sheet."

Dan Dalzell began to hoist with a will. In an incredibly short time he
had the sail hoisted all the way up, while Darrin, stern and whitefaced,
crouched and braced himself by the tiller, gripping the sheet with his
left hand.

In a twinkling Darrin had the wind in his canvas. They had nearly a fair
wind as they bounded away from the float.

During these few instants of preparation neither Belle nor Laura had
spoken. Both girls realized the gravity of the situation, and they knew
that a word from them might distract the rescuers from the work in hand.

Knowing that he had the high, fast wind with him, Dave steered straight
for the last spot where he had seen the motor launch. Though the boat was
no longer visible, and the distance too great for seeing the heads of the
swimmers, if there were any, Darrin had taken his bearings by trees on
the further shore upstream.

At first, to keep the sailboat from capsizing, the young skipper at
the helm let the sheet well out. Then, when Dan hurriedly rejoined
him, Darrin passed the sheet over to his comrade as to one who would
know exactly what to do with it. Dan perched himself on the weather
gunwale, his weight there serving as ballast to keep the craft from
capsizing. Yet, even so, everything had to be done with the utmost
skill, for, with the mainsail up, the least fluke in handling the boat
would send her over.

"We've got to go fast and take all the chances," muttered Dave.

"Sure," nodded Midshipman Dan understandingly. "It would be no great
scare to us if we did heel over into the drink. It might mean a different
story, though, for those who are already sopping up the wet."

"Aren't they splendid fellows?" cried Laura.

"Yes," answered Belle, her eyes snapping and her face glowing. "Though I
won't claim that they're any finer than your own West Point boys."

That brought an added flush to the color in Laura Bentley's face, and her
eyes sparkled her gratitude, for Dick Prescott, now at West Point with
his chum, Greg Holmes, had been her High School sweetheart, and doubtless
was to become her Army sweetheart after he had made sure of his career.

"Dave and Dan are experts," glowed Miss Bentley. "They'll know just
what to do."

"They're better than mere experts," returned Belle Meade. "They're strong
and manly to the core, and with them there's no such word as fear when
there's a duty to be done."

Both Dave and Dan were peering fixedly ahead all the time that they drove
the sailboat toward the scene of the late disaster.

"I think I see a head," cried Darrin.

"Boy or girl!" demanded Midshipman Dalzell.

"Can't tell at this distance. And now the next wave has blotted out what
I thought I saw."

"We've got to be patient," uttered Dan.

The position of the midshipmen was far from being free of danger. With
all their coolness and their undoubted skill in boat handling, there was
grave danger, with the mainsail set, that, at any instant, wind and wave
would capsize the boat.

Indeed, Dave was running the lee gunwale under water half the
time, trusting to the human ballast supplied by his comrade to
keep them afloat.

"See anything now?" demanded Dave.

"No," uttered Dan, "though I'm working my eyes three shifts to try to
make out something. I'll have to go to an oculist as soon as I get
through with this. This eyestrain is awful."

Midshipman Dan Dalzell was really unconscious of the fact that
he was joking. It was second nature with him; he would have
jested--unconsciously--with death in its most awful form.

"There, I see a head--two of them!" cried Midshipman Dave suddenly, as he
half rose and pointed.

"Hurrah!"--from Dan.

Dan let the boat's head fall off a point in order that he might see
better around the mast on the weather side, just where he must head his
craft in the last dash in.

"It's Foss and Ella Wright," called Dan, as the flying sailboat got in
closer over the foam-crested waves. "No, it isn't; Foss has Susie."

"Can you make out Canty and Ella?" demanded Darrin hoarsely.

"Not a sign, Dave. Maybe he's gone under trying to save Ella."

"Canty was one of our Gridley High School boys, so I'd expect him to have
both the nerve and the grace to go down with a girl, if he couldn't save
her as well as himself," muttered Darrin.

"There's Canty, just come up!"

"Can you make out Ella's head?"

"No."

"Look hard."

"I don't see her, and--there!"

"What's up?"

"Nothing," returned Dalzell soberly. "Canty's down--just gone down
again."

"I hope he's gone down trying to find and rescue Ella," murmured Dave.

They were now so close that the young midshipmen would have been able to
hear the shouts of the imperiled ones had it not been that the wind blew
the sounds of voices away from the would-be rescuers.

"Better ease off the sheet a bit, I guess, Davy," called Dan, as he
suited the action to the word. "We don't went to run 'em down."

"No."

As he spoke, Dave Darrin brought the boat slightly around. They were now
close enough to see that Tom Foss was supporting dead weight in the
person of Susie, who was unconscious.

"Waiting the word from you on the sheet, Davy," nodded Dan, as the boat
drew close to the only pair of survivors now visible.

"Let go the sheet!" called Dave an instant later, and Dan let it run off
clear, handing the end of the rope to Darrin.

"Can you head Susie this way, Foss?" Dalzell called.

"I'd rather have help," came the faint answer. Tom Foss was evidently
well spent by his exertions in keeping up the girl so long.

Splash! Dan Dalzell was in the water, without waiting to hear more. The
athletic young midshipman swam with a steadiness and speed that was
glorious to see. Many an excellent swimmer, in smooth water, would dread
buffeting with such waves as were now rolling.

Dave Darrin, meanwhile, held on to the tiller and the paid-out sheet,
ready to manoeuvre the now pitching, rolling boat at an instant's notice.
It took all his seamanship to keep the craft afloat, though the sailboat
was far better modeled for such water than the motor launch had been.

"Give her over to me, and save yourself," commanded Dalzell cheerily, as
he reached Tom Foss. "Think you can make it, old fellow?"

"If I can't, I ought to drown," retorted Tom Foss, as he struck out, none
too strongly. "This is all my fault. You fellows gave me better advice
than I had sense to follow."

Dan, with a skill that he had acquired directly from the excellent
instruction given him by the swimming master at the Naval Academy, was
now piloting the unconscious form of Susie Danes toward the sailboat.

Even encumbered as he was, Dan made the boat before Tom Foss could
accomplish that feat alone. Truth to tell, Foss was very nearly "all in."
Had rescue been delayed a few moments longer, Foss and his fair companion
must have sunk.

"Get hold of her, Davy," called Dan, as he ranged up on the weather side
of the tossing boat.

Darrin promptly leaned over and lifted the unconscious girl into the
boat. By the time he had done that Tom Foss reached up both hands,
seizing the boat's stern.

"Going to help me in?" he called.

"I don't know," Dave answered dubiously.

"If we can find Ella Wright there may not be room. With such a sea
running, this boat won't hold many."

"No matter about me, then," muttered Tom. "If Ella isn't found right away
I don't believe I care about going back to Gridley."

Dave's response was swiftly to knot a noose and let it down over Tom's
shoulders. The other end of the line he made fast astern. Dalzell, in the
meantime, had swum back again. Susie Danes lay as still as death in the
bottom of the boat.

As Dalzell got back where he had first reached Foss and Susie, he espied
the head of Ab Canty some distance away.

"Ab!" called Dan.

"Here!"

"What has become of Ella?"

"Oh, I wish I knew!"

"Was she afloat at all!" demanded Dan, swimming nearer.

"Yes; I kept her up for a couple of minutes, maybe. Then she got more
scared, wound her arms tight around me, and we both sank. We had a
struggle under water. I freed myself, but when I came to the top I found
that my hand was clutching nothing but her empty jersey. There it is
now," chattered Ab, his teeth, knocking against each other, as he pointed
to the garment in question on the top of a distant wave. Then Ab sank.

For just an instant Dalzell thought Canty had gone below on purpose. Dan
swam closer, to be of assistance. Then he saw the bubbles of air coming
up rapidly.

"Cantys given out--he's going to drown!" gasped Midshipman Dan,
with horror.

Like a flash Dan dived below, found and clutched at Canty. The young man
returned the grip with interest, but Midshipman Dalzell struggled to the
surface with him. Ab Canty was exhausted, out of his head and altogether
past reasoning. Dan hated to do it, but he had to strike the young man in
the forehead. Canty gave a gasp and ceased to resist.

Dave Darrin, watching, had run the boat up close alongside as soon as the
struggling pair appeared above the waves.

"You'll have to take him in, Davy," announced Midshipman Dalzell. "Canty
isn't strong enough to tow behind. And I'm coming aboard for a fresh look
before I dive for Miss Wright."

"You're going to stay aboard and manage the boat," retorted Darrin
quietly. "I'm going in next."

"Oh, all right, if you want to," half grumbled Dan. "But I'm just
beginning to get used to it and to like it."

Dan, however, followed orders and took his seat by tiller and sheet as
soon as they had towed Canty safely in the boat. Tom Foss, lied and
holding on at the stern, was beginning to chatter hard, but said he was
all right.

A brief instant of consultation the two midshipmen held. Then Dave
Darrin, holding his hands before him, dived hard and deep into the water.

After nearly a minute he came up again, but only to take an observation.
Then he sank, to explore more of the space under water.

For five minutes Darrin continued this, making four dives in all, and
sinking twice without diving.

"I can't give this up, and abandon a girl," he muttered. "Dan, I've got
to take more account of the current, and work gradually downstream."

A little later Dave rose with a whoop the instant that his head showed
above the water.

"I've got her," Dave announced, though his voice was hoarse and panting.

"Hurrah!" came from Dan, as he saw the girl's head show above the
surface. Dalzell, hauling on the sheet, ran the boat in close. Dave
grasped at the rail on the weather quarter, while Dan bent over him,
hauling hard. And so Ella Wright was dragged unconscious into the boat.

"I'd stay here in the water with you, Tom," explained Dave, "but I've got
to be in the boat to do my share of handling her."

"Th-th-that's all r-r-r-r-right," chattered poor Foss, "I'm d-d-d-doing
f-f-f-fine here--c-c-c-couldn't h-help in the b-b-b-boat"

While lying to, it had taken some fine management on the part of the
midshipmen to keep the sailboat from capsizing. And now, on this rough,
wave-strewn river, they had to tack back against a nearly head wind.

"Look at the crowd on the clubhouse float," gasped Dan as soon as the
Naval chums had gotten their craft under way.

"Good thing," muttered Darrin. "We'll need plenty of help."

"I wonder how the crowd got wind of the thing in such short time?"

"You forget," nudged Darrin, "that there's a telephone in the clubhouse.
Laura and Belle are not given to losing their heads. Undoubtedly they've
been 'phoning to Gridley."

"Then they can't have overlooked the need of physicians," ventured Dan,
"especially as Laura is the daughter of one."

As the boat drew nearer to the float the noise of cheers was borne to the
ears of the midshipmen.

"More of the hero racket," uttered Dan disgustedly.

"I hope this won't get into the newspapers," grunted Darrin in a tone of
something like real alarm. "Say, the fellows of the brigade wouldn't do
a thing but make us mount chairs and read all the fulsome gush about
this rescue."

"And then, after we'd finished a straight reading," groaned Dan, "we'd
have to sing it next, to the tune of 'Columbia, the Pride of the Ocean.'"

"'Gem of the Ocean,' Dan," Darrin corrected.

Though in the middle of the river the sailboat had many a close shave
from capsizing in the strong puffs of wind, especially with the load that
the little craft carried, yet Dan Dalzell, at the tiller, brought the
boat at last in under the lee side of the float, and there a score of
pairs of willing hands reached out with offers of help.

Dr. Bentley was in the crowd, as were two other Gridley physicians. There
were also two trained nurses, and one of the druggists had brought along
a big emergency box of drugs and supplies. Between them the telephone and
the automobile can accomplish a lot in these modern times.

Laura and Belle, though they had summoned the aid, now kept tactfully in
the background.

The two apparently drowned girls were lifted from the boat in haste and
borne to a room that had been made ready on the second floor of the
clubhouse. Ab Canty was carried to another room, and Tom Foss, who nearly
shook to pieces when lifted from the water, was helped after his friend.

"You two young midshipmen will have to come inside and get some of our
attention," called Dr. Bentley in an authoritative voice.

"I think not, thank you, doctor," replied Dave Darrin. "The most that we
want is some place where we can strip and rub down, while waiting for dry
clothing."

"I know just the room, and I'll take you there," urged Len Spencer,
reporter for the "Morning Blade." Len was an old friend of Dick Prescott,
who, in his High School days before going to West Point, had worked as an
amateur space reporter for the "Blade."

Len led the way gladly. While Dan and Dave stripped and rubbed down, Len
got out of them the whole account of what they had been through.
Reporter Spencer had already talked with Belle and Laura. A man in an
auto had already started for the homes of the two midshipmen, to obtain
changes of clothing for them.

"Now, Len," begged Dave, "don't spread on a lot of taffy. Don't smother
us under the hero racket."

"But it was an heroic thing," Len argued. "And, besides, it was done with
great skill, of the kind that you've gained at the Naval Academy. It
makes a corking, elegant story about two of our brightest Gridley lads."

"But, Len, do you realize that the fellows at the Naval Academy will make
us read aloud to them this yarn you're proposing to write about us--that
is, if they happen to hear about it?"

"And then, after we've read the yarn straight, they'll make us sing it
all to some blamed old tune or another," groaned Dalzell.

"Well, I can't help it," sighed good-natured Len. "It's a story we've got
to have to-morrow morning. I'd lose my position if I didn't write a good
story about this afternoon's work. And, now that I've got a wife and baby
to feed, I can't afford to waste any good time in job-hunting."

"Then I hope none of the other fellows at the Naval Academy hear about
the 'Blade's' story," gulped Dan, as he wrapped himself in a blanket
while waiting for his dry clothes.

"Hear about it?" retorted Len. "They'll hear about it, all right. The
Associated Press man at Gridley will be sure to send something about it
to the papers all over the country."

"I guess we've got to take our medicine, Danny," hinted Midshipman
Dave Darrin.

In the meantime Tom Foss was soon comfortable, wrapped up in blankets and
with plenty of coffee inside him. Nor did it take long to bring Ab Canty
around. In three quarters of an hour Susie Danes opened her eyes.

As for Ella Wright, the physicians and nurses worked over her long and
earnestly, and were on the point of giving her up when at last a flutter
of her eyelids was seen.

By night time all of the young people were quite out of danger, but the
parents of the Wright and Danes families were highly indignant over the
recklessness of Tom Foss in taking the girls out on the river in such a
heavy wind.

Three days later even the launch was saved; that is, it was raised and
was towed to a boat-builder for overhauling and repairs.




CHAPTER III

THE TROUBLE-MAKING FOP


The story that Len Spencer wrote for the "Blade" was "worse" than the
midshipmen had expected. That is, the newspaper made them out to be
heroes of some rare, solid-gold type. To add to the trouble, the
story, in a condensed form, was printed broadcast by the dailies all
over the country.

"We can't hope to keep it quiet, Danny boy," groaned Dave when the two
chums met the next morning.

"No," sighed Dan. "The most we can hope for is to be allowed to
live it down."

"And I'm much afraid that we've got to stand for a lot more of gush this
afternoon," continued Darrin.

"At the reception? Oh, yes! I wish we could desert the town and get away
somewhere to hide."

The affair for the afternoon was a reception for which Laura Bentley had
sent out hurried invitations to a lot of the former High School boys and
girls of Gridley. Though Laura was more especially interested in the U.
S. Military Academy at West Point--because Dick Prescott was there--yet
she did not show undue partiality to the Army.

"I'm sorry Laura didn't wait a fortnight," Dan continued.

"Oh, well, she doesn't understand," Dave urged.

"You're going, of course?"

"I surely am. I wouldn't slight that splendid girl. She's a whole lot to
me, Danny boy, both for her own sake and Dick Prescott's."

Even the short stroll, however, between Belle Meade's home and Laura's,
was bound to bring Dave Darrin again into the unwished-for limelight.

He and Belle had turned into Main Street together, and were walking
along, chatting, when Belle's eyes flashed suddenly.

"There's that horrid wretch Ardmore," she murmured in an undertone.

"Don't believe I know him," Darrin returned.

"Then you haven't been deprived of much," replied Belle, in a tone that
was very nearly bitter. "I've been meaning to tell you about him, Dave,
but other matters have been cropping up and it has escaped me until now."

"What's wrong with Ardmore?" asked Dave.

"He's posing as an admirer of mine."

"I can't quarrel with his taste," smiled Darrin.

"But he annoys me."

"Has he dared to do that?" demanded Dave, a quick flash in his eyes.

"Not in any way that it would be easy to resent," Belle assured him.

"Who is this fellow Ardmore?"

"He appears to be a gentleman--at least in his ordinary conduct," Belle
Meade answered. "He moved here last spring with his parents. The father
is a retired lawyer, and wealthy. The Ardmores move in a rather good set
in town. About a month ago Caspar Ardmore, the young man, met me at a
church affair. Ever since then he has all but waylaid me. Several times
he has tried to walk with me when we met, and has often tried to see me
home from church or elsewhere. I've been almost downright rude to him,
and have shown him in every way I can that I don't wish to continue
acquaintance. But he's hard to discourage."

"He hasn't insulted you?" asked Dave quietly.

"Oh, dear, no! If he had, I think I might have been able to startle him
somewhat," laughed Belle, who had a "temper" when it was necessary to
have one. As she spoke she raised her eyes, glancing ahead.

"There, he has stopped, and looks almost as though he were waiting for
us," she added.

"There's an ugly scowl on his face, too."

Dave Darrin looked ahead at the foppish, rather good-looking, tall and
slender young man of some twenty-six years.

"I hope he isn't going to be troublesome," murmured Dave. "I don't want
to have to fight with him--at least, not when you're along with me."

As they neared Ardmore, Dave continued to look at the young man quietly,
steadily, frankly. Ardmore seemed trying to ignore the gaze, and looked,
instead, at Belle.

Just as the young couple reached him, Ardmore raised his hat, at the same
time stepping forward so that he blocked Belle's progress.

"Good afternoon, Miss Meade," was Ardmore's greeting. "I was on my way to
your house when I saw you. Mother has some tickets for a concert at the
Sorosis rooms, and is unable to use them this afternoon. So I have come
to ask you if you will not honor me with your company at the concert?"

"Thank you, no," Belle answered coldly. "And I would also like to make it
plain, Mr. Ardmore, since you make it necessary, that I do not wish your
company at any time or place. I am sorry to have to speak so plainly."

A deep flush dyed the cheeks of the fop. But he was not so easily
discouraged.

"I had intended to call this evening, Miss Meade. I am to have a box at
the theatre."

"You may call anywhere you wish," Belle retorted, her eyes flashing,
"provided it is not at my home."

"Oh, I am very much afraid that you are annoyed with me," cried Ardmore.

"I am," Belle admitted. "Mr. Ardmore, will you do me the very great favor
of ceasing your attempts at acquaintance?"

"Acquaintance? Why, we're already very well acquainted, Miss Meade; in
fact, I had hoped that we were, by this time, the most excellent friends.
If this gentleman," with a sidelong look at Dave, "will excuse us, Miss
Meade, will you stroll along with me and tell me in what way I may have
offended you without intending anything of the sort?"

Dave, who had remained quiet, now felt called upon to interpose.

"Sir," he demanded, "will you observe Miss Meade's request and take
yourself away?"

"And what have you to say about this?" demanded Ardmore sneeringly.

"The young lady is under my protection."

"I have offered her mine."

"And Miss Meade has just told you that you will please her most by
keeping away from her at all times," replied Darrin quietly but firmly.

"What? After all the good times she and I have enjoyed together?"
demanded Ardmore, as though astounded beyond measure.

"I? Good times with you?" cried Belle, her cheeks flaming. "I've never
even spoken to you when I could avoid it."

"That's false!" cried young Ardmore hotly.

"Stop, right there!" warned Dave Darrin in a quieter voice than ever,
though his face paled swiftly. "Did I understand you to remark that Miss
Meade had made a false statement?"

"You did!"

Whack! Darrin's clenched right fist caught the fop on the temple, felling
him to the ground.

"Go right on to Laura's, Belle," begged Dave quickly. "I'll be
along soon."

Miss Meade walked rapidly ahead.

Ardmore was on his feet in an instant. Not wanting in a certain amount
of animal courage, he rushed at Dave, only to be met with a blow in
the mouth that floored him again. The fop's lip was cut and bleeding
when he rose.

"You cur!" bellowed the fellow.

"The opinion of a person like you can't matter very much," Dave
retorted coolly.

A little crowd was beginning to gather. Dave's pallor increased, for his
very soul writhed at the thought of having Belle's name involved in a
brawl in this fashion.

"You're a--" began Ardmore, but Dave Darrin moved quickly up to him.

"Do you retract the statement you made?" demanded the midshipman in a
low voice.

"I retract nothing," quivered Ardmore. "I repeat, and repeat--"

Dave closed in like lightning, Ardmore attempted to guard himself, but he
was all but helpless before such a fast, trained hitter as Dave. The fop
went down under two well-aimed blows delivered almost together.

Once more Ardmore leaped to his feet, while Darrin disdainfully
awaited him.

But two or three men in the crowd leaped between the enemies, forcing
the fop back.

"Don't be a fool, Ardmore!" urged one of the men, speaking in the
fellow's ear. "That's Midshipman Dave Darrin, and he's one of the
quickest, hardest hitters in Gridley."

"Oh, that's the midshipman, is it?" demanded Ardmore in a sneering voice.
"Oh, well, then, I won't hit him again. I know another way of making his
skin smart."

Dave tarried only long enough to make sure that the fop did not care to
carry the encounter further. Then, turning on his heel, he walked rapidly
in the direction Belle had taken. He overtook that young lady before she
reached the Bentley home.

[Illustration: Darrin's Blow Felled the Fop to the Ground.]

"If the fellow intends to trouble you again, I hope he'll do it before
my leave is finished," spoke Dave quietly. "I think I've given him a
little lesson, Belle, though there's no telling how long it will last
with inferior animals of Ardmore's type."

"He's a spiteful fellow, Dave. You must be on your guard against him,"
Belle urged.

"I guess Ardmore is wishing his own guard had been more effective,"
smiled the midshipman.

Caspar Ardmore was "busy" within an hour after Dave's summary handling of
him. Ardmore had never been considered a truly bad fellow, though he was
foppish, conceited and wholly unable to understand why anything that he
wanted should be denied him. Belle was now two years beyond her High
School days, and had developed into a most attractive young woman.
Ardmore had fallen victim to her charms and had decided that he would
make a better husband for her than any Naval officer could. Hence the
young dandy had pursued Miss Meade with his attentions; upon finding her
with Dave, he had hoped, in his foolish way, to put an end to Darrin's
pretensions.

Ardmore, therefore, having met only disaster, was now engaged in drawing
up a complaint to be sent to the Secretary of the Navy, complaining that
he had been set upon and treated with severe physical violence by
Midshipman Darrin.

Nor was there great difficulty in finding three men, out of the small
crowd that had witnessed the assault, to swear to affidavits that they
had seen Darrin knock Caspar Ardmore down repeatedly.

All this "evidence" Ardmore got together with great relish, and mailed
the mass of stuff, that same night, to the Secretary of the Navy at
Washington.

Then Ardmore went out of town for three days. Behind him he left an
active toady who promised to keep watch of matters and to advise him.

It was through this toady that Dave received an intimation that his case
would be attended to at Washington. Belle, also, received a hint, and
with it she went to Darrin.

"Can the fellow really make any trouble for you, Dave?" she asked
anxiously.

"Why, yes," admitted Dave. "Anyone can make trouble for a midshipman, to
the extent that the charge must be investigated by the Navy Department.
If the Secretary were satisfied that I am a reckless sort of bully, he
would decide that I am unfit to be an officer of the Navy."




CHAPTER IV

IN THE VIEW OF THE NAVY DEPARTMENT


Dave Darrin did not let the news of the charges disturb his outward
serenity, though he was inwardly aware that perjured evidence might work
great harm to his future career.

Until he was advised by the Navy Department that charges had been made
against him, he really could do nothing in the matter.

But that letter from the Secretary was not long in coming. The letter
informed Midshipman Darrin that he has been accused of severely
assaulting a citizen without just provocation, and contained, also, some
of the circumstances alleged by Caspar Ardmore. Dave was commanded to
forward his defense promptly.

This Darrin did, in a courteous answer, as briefly as he could properly
make it. He admitted knocking Ardmore down, but stated that he did it in
resenting an insult offered by Ardmore to a young lady under his
(Darrin's) escort at the time.

This letter he showed Belle.

"It is the first step, on my side in the matter," he explained
with a smile.

"I should think the Secretary of the Navy ought to be satisfied with
your answer and drop it at once," replied Belle.

"He may."

"But you think he won't?"

"It is likely, Belle, that there will be a court of inquiry at least."

"Oh, dear!" cried Belle, a few tears gleaming in her eyes now. "Why
should so much fuss be made over the matter?"

"Because I am being trained to be an officer in the Navy. An officer must
be a gentleman as well. Any charge affecting a Naval officer's honor or
courtesy must be investigated, in order that the government may know
whether the accused is fit to hold an officer's commission. The
government wouldn't be dealing justly with the people if such standards
were not observed."

"And I am the cause of all this trouble for you?" cried Belle.

"No, Belle, you are not. You have nothing to do with the matter, except
indirectly. Ardmore is the one responsible for the trouble. If he had not
insulted you he wouldn't have gotten into any difficulty."

"It seems too bad, just the same."

"It's annoying; that's all," Dave assured her. "If I had to do the same
thing over again, for the same reason, I'd do it cheerfully."

Mrs. Meade heard of it all, from her daughter. Without saying a word as
to her intentions the mother herself wrote a letter to the Secretary of
the Navy. Mrs. Meade set forth the persistent fashion in which Ardmore
had sought to force his attentions upon Belle, to the latter's great
annoyance. Mrs. Meade's letter declared that Darrin had taken the only
possible means of saving Belle from future annoyance. The mother's letter
to the Secretary concluded by offering to procure statements from other
people on the subject if the Secretary wished.

Mrs. Meade received a prompt reply from Washington. The Secretary thanked
her for her statements and expressed entire belief in them.

By the same mail Caspar Ardmore, just returned to Gridley, received
this letter:

"Referring to your letter and complaint bearing date of September 6, the
Department has to advise you that other statements have also been
received bearing upon your accusations of an assault alleged to have been
committed upon your person by Midshipman David Darrin.

"It is claimed by the signers of other statements, including that of
Midshipman Darrin, that you grossly insulted a young woman under his
escort and completed the insult by accusing her of falsehood. If these
statements be true, and there be no other important circumstances,
except the assault, the Department begs to advise you that, had not
Midshipman Darrin resented the gross insult tendered the woman under
his protection, he would thereby, by such inaction, have rendered
himself liable to dismissal from the Navy. It is always the first duty
of a gentleman to afford ample protection to any woman under his
escort and care.

"Should you deny the statements quoted above in favor of Midshipman
Darrin, and should you further desire to have the matter brought to issue
before a duly appointed court of inquiry, before which you would be
required to appear as a material witness, this Department will be glad so
to be advised. If you do not make formal application for the appointment
of such court of inquiry within the next few days, no further action will
be taken in the matter. Very respectfully,

"Your obedient servant,
"(Signed) LEOK B. CHAMBERS,
"_Secretary of the Navy_."

As he read, and realized how flat his charge had fallen, Ardmore's face
passed through several shades of red.

"Of all the government red tape!" he muttered wrathfully. "I didn't think
the fool Secretary would do anything like this. I thought he'd just call
Darrin down hard and plenty, and perhaps bounce him out of the Naval
Academy. Humph! I guess all these Navy folks stand together. There
doesn't seem to be much justice about it."

Ardmore thereupon took another vacation away from Gridley. A few days
after he went Midshipman Darrin received a brief communication from the
Secretary of the Navy, stating that no further action had been taken by
the accuser, and that the Department was satisfied that the midshipman's
conduct had been fully justified. Therefore the matter would not be
called to the attention of the Naval Academy authorities for action.

"So you see," smiled Dave, as he called at Belle's home and handed her
the letter, "there is never any need to be worried until trouble breaks
in earnest."

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Belle, her eyes shining with delight, "I hope
you won't meet that Ardmore fellow again while you're home."

"If I do," promised Dave, "I shall merely look over his head when we
meet, unless he repeats the offense that brought him that thrashing."

Ardmore, however, did not appear in Gridley again during Dave's leave
of absence.

Dave and Dan tasted, to the full, the delights of life in the old home
town until the day when it was necessary for them to take train and
return to Annapolis.

"Mother, Laura and I will go down to Annapolis whenever we hear from
you as to the best time for coming," Miss Meade promised at the
railway station.

Then she found chance to murmur, in a voice too low for any of the others
present to hear:

"And I'll try hard not to be such a goose as I was last winter!"

She referred to the trouble that had been made by another girl at
Annapolis, the circumstances of which are wholly familiar to the readers
of the earlier volumes of this series.

"I don't blame you for the way you felt last winter," Dave assured her
heartily, "Next time, however, I hope you'll come to me first for an
explanation."

"There isn't going to be any next time, Dave."

Three minutes later two midshipmen were being whirled through the city
limits of Gridley.




CHAPTER V

NAVY FOOTBALL IN THE AIR


Back on the old, familiar Academy grounds!

Both Dave and Dan underwent an unconscious brace as they passed the
watchman at the main gate and stepped on, each with a suit case in hand,
to the left, with Bancroft Hall in the distance.

Their first move was, as it must be, to report their return to the
officer in charge. By that officer the two midshipmen were assigned to
the rooms that they were to occupy during the coming academic year.

Once behind their doors, both young men hastened to get out of cit.
clothes and back into their beloved uniforms.

"There are worse liveries to wear than Uncle Sam's," murmured Dan
Dalzell when, having arrayed himself, he glanced down lovingly at the
neat, dark blue.

"Much worse," replied Dave briefly, as, having dressed, he set to work to
help make their quarters neat enough to please even the captious eye of
the discipline officer. By the time that the two midshipmen finished
policing their quarters no housekeeper in the land could have found the
least sign of disorder.

Rap-tap! sounded briskly at the door.

"Come in," called Dave.

The door opened, revealing Midshipman Hepson, of the first class.

"Are you fellows to rights?" he called.

"Come in, Hepson," urged Dave. "Yes; we're to rights as far as
quarters go."

Hepson came no more than inside the door before he halted, asking
briskly:

"Have you anything on!"

"Nothing but our clothes," grinned Dan, "and some hair."

"You've no appointments or engagements, then?" persisted Hepson. "My
being here won't interfere with anything that you want to do?"

"Not in the least," Dave replied.

"Oh, then, I'll invite myself to a chair," declared the first
classman, suiting the action to the word. "Now, you fellows can guess
why I'm here."

"You're captain of this year's football eleven," Dave replied. "Has that
anything to do with your call?"

"Everything," admitted Hepson briskly. "Have you fellows any notion that
we've a poor eleven, so far, this year?"

"Why I thought it pretty good, from the practice work that I saw done in
August," Darrin answered slowly.

"A pretty good eleven doesn't win games, sir," retorted Hepson. "Man,
we've got to strengthen the team all along the line, or I'll go down in
Naval Academy history as captain of the worst lot of dubs who ever chased
a pigskin around the field!"

"Is it as bad as that?" demanded Dan, opening his eyes.

"Dalzell," said Hepson, "our eleven is rotten, sir--simply and
fiercely useless!"

"If it's as bad as that," hinted Dan innocently, "wouldn't it be a prime
good idea to draw our eleven from the field this year?"

"What? Strike the Navy's colors, and especially to the Army?" glared Mr.
Hepson. "What are you talking about?"

"Then I guess," nodded Dan, "that we'll have to stay in the ring, and let
it go by apologizing to the Army for getting in their way on the field
the Saturday after Thanksgiving."

"We won't do that, either, by Jingo!" retorted Midshipman Hepson. "But
we've got to strengthen our team. We've got to practice every minute that
the commandant will allow us for practice. We've got to make a front-rank
team out of--nearly nothing!"

"Aren't there any good players who have been holding back?" asked
Dave Darrin.

"Two that I know of, Darrin," rejoined Hepson, fixing his eyes
keenly on Dave.

"Who are they?"

"You and Dalzell."

"We haven't backed out, or refused duty," Darrin retorted quickly.

"No; but you haven't pushed yourselves forward any, either."

"Well, we're hardly team material," objected Dave modestly. "However,
I'll promise for myself and Dalzell, too, that we'll turn out to all the
practice we can, and work like blazes!"

"Will you?" cried Midshipman Hepson delightedly. He jumped up, grasping
each midshipman by the hand in turn.

"But you don't want to bank on us too much," Darrin continued. "You
know, we've never played on anything as big as the Navy team. We used to
be good enough little players on a country school team. But it's
different here."

"Let the coaches and the captain find that out, then," grunted Hepson.
"But you'll work? You'll try to make good? You'll try to make the team
and some history?"

"We'd lay down our lives for the Navy, at any point and in any sort of
game," rejoined Dave Darrin simply.

"Good! Bully! That's the way I like to hear a fellow talk!" glowed
Hepson, making toward the door. "You'll turn out for practice to-morrow
afternoon?"

"Without fail, if we're physically able," promised Midshipman Darrin.

"Awfully obliged to you, fellows," cried Hepson, throwing the door open.
"And now you won't mind if I cut my visit short? I've a lot of fellows to
see, you know."

The door banged and Hepson was gone.

"Say, how's the Navy going to win under a chap as nervous as Hepson?"
asked Dan.

"That isn't nervousness, Danny boy."

"If it isn't, what is it, then?"

"Electricity."

"Elec--Oh, say, now--"

"It's electricity," Dave insisted. "He's a live wire, that man Hepson.
He'll pull us through on the field this year, if any one can."

"There's nothing like looking on the bright side of things," murmured
Dalzell, drumming on his chair.

"I'd rather see Hepson under estimate the Navy team," went on Dave, "than
feel too sure that it is invincible. Still, I believe that the Navy is
going to put forward a mighty strong eleven this year. Though, of course,
that is not saying that we can beat the Army."

"Why not?" demanded Dalzell almost fiercely.

"Because, no matter how good a line we put forward, the Army may put
forward a better."

"Now, don't go tooting the Army's bugle!"

"I am just considering the average of chances," Darrin returned. "Danny
boy, sometimes the Navy wins, but most of the games of past years have
gone to the Army. So the chances are that we'll be beaten this year."

"Not if I have to die on the line to stop it!" glowed Dalzell at red
heat.

"Maybe you won't even get on the Navy line; perhaps I won't, either,
Danny boy. But you know we saw by the "Army and Navy Journal" that
Prescott and Holmes are playing on the West Point eleven this year."

"Holmes isn't necessarily such a much, is he?" flared Dan.

"Greg Holmes is a pretty handy man on the football field," retorted
Darrin warmly. "None ought to know that better than we, after we've seen
Holmes pull out so many victories for the old High School team. Of
course, Prescott is the better player, but Holmes can back him up to
amazing advantage."

"Didn't we play about as good a game as that pair?" Dalzell demanded.

"I don't know," Dave answered thoughtfully. "Perhaps not quite as good a
game. You see, in the old High School days, Dick Prescott used to lead
and I often backed up his plays. So one could hardly compare us."

"If you're in such a blue funk over the Navy's chances, you'd better keep
off the line-up," muttered Midshipman Dalzell.

"Oh, I'm in no funk," returned Darrin, smiling. "However, I'm not going
to be betrayed into any bragging until we've wiped the field up with the
Army--if we can."

Rap-tap! came on the door.

"I'll wager that's Farley," whispered Darrin.

"Or Page"--from Dan.

"Come in," called Dave.

The door opened, to let in Farley, with Page crowding on his heels.

Dave and Dan both hastened forward to clasp hands with these tried chums
of other days.

"Seen Hepson?" asked Dan.

"Yes," nodded Farley. "He told us he had gobbled you. Hepson just left
us."

"You're going to be on the eleven!" pressed Dan.

"If we can make it," nodded Farley slowly. "I'd like to play, too, but
I'm hoping that the Navy can hit on some one better than myself."

"Cold feet!" grinned Dan.

"Not exactly," Farley answered, with a slight flush. "But it's a big
thing to play on the Navy's fighting eleven. It seems almost too big a
responsibility for any but a demi-god."

"Demi-gods don't play football," jeered Dan. "They're nothing but idols,
anyway, and they're two thousand years out of date. What we want on the
Navy line is real human flesh and blood."

"There'll be blood on the doorstep of the moon if the Army carries things
away from us this year," predicted Page mournfully.

"Well, all we can do is our best," declared Dave. "We'll do that, too,
and do it mightily. Wow! What's that?"

Ta-ra-ra-ta-ra-ta! sounded musically in the corridors.

"Supper formation, by Jove!" gasped Dan.

Farley and Page fled without a word. Soon the "decks" of Bancroft Hall
swarmed with young life. Then, outside, to seaward, the brigade fell in
by companies.

Military commands rang out briskly, roll was called, reports made and the
brigade marched in to supper.

What a joyous, noisy affair it was. Some license in the way of
boisterousness was allowed this evening, and most of the young men took
full advantage of the fact.

Swat! A slice of bread, soaked in a glass of water and kneaded into a
soppy ball, struck Dalzell full in the back of the neck, plastering his
collar and sending a sticky mess down his spine.

"I'll fight the man who did that," promised Midshipman Dan, wheeling
around. Then added cautiously:

"If he's a graduate."

There being, naturally, no graduates present except the officer at the
furthest corner of the mess hall, Dan's challenge provoked laughter.

Many other pranks were played, but there is not room to record them here.
The meal over and the brigade dismissed, some of the midshipmen--there
were nearly eight hundred of them--went to their own quarters, or visited
the rooms of cronies. Hundreds took the air in the grounds.

Almost the sole topic was football. Hepson speedily had most of the
members of the big squad gathered about him. Others, who could not hope
to "make" in football, gathered near-by, as though afraid of losing some
of the talk.

"Remember, gentlemen, until the Army game is over, it's to be nothing
this year but work, work, work!" warned Midshipman Hepson, with intense
earnestness.

With nothing but football in the air, Dan soon caught the infection even
more deeply than his chum.

"Hang it, I'm a dub," groaned Dan. "Lots of the fellows gave up their
leave in order to be here and practise. Why in the mischief didn't I?"

"For the same reason that perhaps I didn't sacrifice leave," replied
Dave. "I wasn't asked to. And you weren't, either, were you?"

"No; but I wish I had flung myself at Hepson's head, and made him take
me, instead of going off to Gridley like a deserter! It's October now,
and what earthly chance, Dave, have you and I to get in shape?"

"We'll do our best, Danny boy, or stay off the line. There's nothing to
be gained by losing our heads. Regrets will be equally worthless."

"Hepson," called one midshipman, "has anyone invented the Navy yells for
this year?"

"Yells?" repeated the football captain scornfully. "It's more to the
purpose to fit ourselves to do something worth yelling about!"

"Has Hepson got the blues?" asked another midshipman.

"Or only the rattles?"

Football was still in the air, dominating the minds of the midshipmen
when a turn of the master switch shut off the lights at taps.




CHAPTER VI

THE HATE OF A RIVAL


The day following was one of intense, almost complicated routine.

There were books and supplies to be drawn for the new academic year.
There were uniforms and other articles of apparel to be drawn. The
sections were detailed and section marchers to be appointed. There were
details of military organization to be announced. Some of the young men
had to go up for physical examination, even if only of the eyes.

At the afternoon recreation hour Hepson led the big football squad out to
the field. Hundreds of midshsipmen went there to see how the Navy would
show up in the vitally important tests. At the outset Hepson was
everywhere, like a buzzing, excitable wasp. Nor did he prove to be minus
a sting at times.

"I think, sir," suggested Hepson, going over to Lieutenant-Commander
Havens, the head coach, "that it would be well for us to know something
about the running speed of every candidate."

"Very good, Mr. Hepson; try out any man that you're curious about,"
replied the officer.

"Darrin, Dalzell, Page, Farley, White, Bryant," called the captain of
the Navy team. "Each of you pick up a ball. Line up at this goal-line,
Joyce, will you take a stop-watch and go over to the other goal-line?
Adams, go along and assist Joyce. I want a record of the time it takes
each man to cover the distance, running as fast as he can with the ball."

The men designated took their places.

"I'll run you first, Darrin," announced the captain. "Go like a streak,
if you can. If you fall down it counts zero. Start when I say 'go.' Are
you ready?"

"Quite ready."

"Go!"

At the word Dave sped away like a shot, Hepson giving a hand signal as he
uttered the starting word, that the time-keeper at the other end might
know when to release the watch. Dave's time was noted. Then Dan took a
try, covering the distance in only two fifths of a second more time than
Darrin had required. Farley was a second and three fifths behind Darrin's
time; Page, a full two seconds behind. White and Bryant then ran, but
only succeeded in about tying Page's work.

Then six more men were called to the line and tried out. After that a
third squad. By this time Midshipman Hepson had his mind about made up
as to the relative speeds of some of the most likely men for the final
Navy team.

"Get out for some kicks, now!" called Hepson.

"When are you going to play football?" growled one man.

Midshipman Hepson turned on him like a flash.

"Jetson, there's a substitute captain in the squad, but you're not the
man. Neither are you one of the coaches."

"Oh, you make me--" began Jetson, but Midshipman Hepson cut him
short with:

"If you can't keep silence when you've nothing to say, your absence from
the field will be considered a favor to the whole squad."

Jetson scowled, but said nothing more. Neither did he offer to retire
from the field.

"Jetson has always been a kicker and a trouble mosquito," whispered Dan
Dalzell to his chum.

"Oh, in a lot of ways Jetson is a nice fellow," Darrin replied quietly.
"The greatest trouble that ails him is that he has just a trifle too
large opinion of the importance of his own opinions. There are a lot of
us troubled in that way."

The kicking practice was put through with dash and vim. Then Midshipman
Hepson, after a brief conference with the head coach, called off the
line-up for the provisional Navy team, following this with a roster of
the second team, or "Rustlers," so called because they force the men of
the Navy team to rustle to keep their places.

Dave Darrin was called off for left tackle, Dan for left end. Farley and
Page held the corresponding positions on the right end of the line-up.

"Begin the game, the Rustlers to have the ball," called
Lieutenant-Commander Havens.

"And mix it up lively, Navy," called Hepson, who, both on account of his
size and other qualifications, played center.

At the whistle-blast the Rustlers kicked it off--a beautiful,
long, arching curve. The ball came to quarter-back, who passed it
to Dave Darrin.

Then the fun began.

The Navy line hit the Rustlers hard and tried to bump through. Dan
Dalzell devoted every ounce of his strength and every turn of his energy
to boosting Darrin through--and Dave himself was not idle. There was an
instant of sullen, hard resistance. Then, somehow, Dave was shot through
the opposing line. Like a deer he sped, Dan hanging to his flanks. It was
up to the Rustlers' halfback now, and that bulky young midshipman leaped
to the fray, cleverly barring the way.

At least, the Rustlers' halfback thought he had Darrin blocked. It is
never wise to take too much for granted.

As the halfback planted himself for the grapple, Dave suddenly dropped
through that opponent's grip and went to the ground.

As though he had been shot through, Dave Darrin went under and past, on
one side, between the halfback's legs. He was up again, with Dan at his
back. Fullback came at them, but Dan bumped that player aside. Dave
dashed on across the line, scoring a touchdown.

Never had the gridiron been the scene of greater excitement than in that
rousing moment.

"Darrin! Darrin! Darrin!" came hoarsely; from hundreds of throats.

"Dalzell! Dalzell!" came the next gusty roar.

Hepson wiped a moist brow with one hand.

"There are two real players, if they can keep that up," muttered the
captain of the eleven.

Jetson had been the tackle opposed to Dave. Just now Jetson was nursing a
bump to his vanity.

"How on earth did I ever happen to let Darrin through?" Jetson demanded
of himself. "I won't do it again, anyway. If I can only make Darrin look
small, I may get his place on the Navy eleven. Darrin is a good fellow,
but I've got to make the team, confound him!"

The kick for goal failed. Then the Navy took the ball and promptly
enough the Rustlers came back with it, Jetson carrying.

Dave and Dan met the ball-carrier. The Rustlers' support failed, and
Jetson went down with the ball. Nor could the second team advance the
ball, so it presently came to the Navy men again.

"I want you to put it through again like a cannon-ball, Darrin,"
Midshipman Hepson whispered as they passed.

So the quarter-backs called for a repetition of the play, giving
different signals.

Dave received the ball with a rush of his old-time fervor and confidence.
Dan started behind him as full of fire as ever.

In a fraction of a second the impact of the two opposing lines came.
Jetson went down, one of his legs flying between Darrin's in such a way
as to constitute a foul.

Dave Darrin went down on top of the ball. Half a dozen players sprawled
over him. The referee's whistle blew.

"Jetson, that was a mean, deliberate trip," remarked Darrin, as he sprang
to his feet. He spoke coolly, with a warning flash in his eyes.

"Not on my part," retorted Jetson.

"You thrust your leg between mine as you went down."

Coach signed to referee not to renew the game for the moment. Then
Lieutenant-Commander Havens and the two team captains crowded close.

"I didn't do it deliberately, as you charged," retorted Jetson, hot
with anger.

"You deny it?" insisted Dave.

"I do."

"On your word as a gentleman you did not intend, a foul trip?" demanded
Midshipman Darrin.

"I have already answered you."

"Answer me on your word as a gentleman."

"I don't have to."

"Very good, then," retorted Dave, turning away with a meaning smile.

"Hold on. I pledge you my word as a gentleman that I did not intend
to make a foul trip," said Jetson, swiftly realizing the error of
his refusal.

In the meantime Lieutenant-Commander Havens had turned to Motley, of the
first class, who was serving as referee.

"Mr. Motley," demanded coach, "did you see just what happened?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you call it a foul trip?"

"I do, sir. If I were referee in a regular game, I would penalize the
team and order the player from the field."

"Mr. Jetson--" began the coach, but, swift as a flash Dave Darrin
interposed, though respectfully, saluting at the same time.

"Will you pardon me, sir. Mr. Jetson has given me his word that he did
not intend a foul trip. I accept his word without reservation."

"Very good, then," nodded coach. "But Mr. Jetson, you will do well to be
careful in the future, and avoid even the appearance of evil."

"Yes, sir; very good, sir," answered Jetson, looking decidedly sheepish.

In giving his word Jetson had told the truth, or had intended to. The
exact truth was that he really did not realize what he had done until it
was too late to avoid the foul. He had meant to stop Darrin, somehow.

"Pull that scrimmage off again," directed Coach Havens dryly.

The ball was placed, the whistle sounded, and again Dave received the
ball and tried to break through. With the Rustlers prepared for the move,
it was blocked and the ball was "down."

Jetson felt his face burning. He knew, well enough, that many of the
players regarded him with suspicion.

"I suppose that suspicion will stick, and my chances of making the Navy
eleven are now scantier than ever," muttered the unfortunate midshipman
to himself.

The whistle blew before any further advantage had been gained. Coach
and Midshipman Hepson had gained considerable insight into the work
of the team.

"Mr. Hepson," said coach aside, in the interval that followed, "you have
done well, I think, to place two such men as Darrin and Dalzell on the
provisional team."

"I am glad you think so, sir," replied the Navy football captain, "for
that is the way it strikes me."

"If you keep them at the left flank you'll have something like dynamite
there," smiled coach. "Mr. Darrin goes through like a cannon-ball, and
Dalzell is always just where Darrin needs him."

"These men have played together before, and they're used to team work,
sir," said Midshipman Hepson.

"So? Where did they play before coming to Annapolis?"

"On what was, in their day, one of the best High School eleven's
going, sir."

"Oho! Do you know, Mr. Hepson, they play more like college men than
anything else. It must have been a bully High School team that
graduated them."

"From the little that I've heard, sir, that High School team was a
great one."

Coach and captain walked back to the scene.

"You will now play another ten-minute period," directed Mr. Havens.
"Jetson will withdraw from the second eleven during the next period and
Doyle will take his place."

"So that's what coach and team captain were hatching up?" thought
Midshipman Jetson. "That gives me a black eye, and my chances of making
the Navy eleven are now worse than ever. Probably I won't even make sub."

As Navy and Rustlers again collided in the fray, Jetson watched Dave's
work narrowly, furiously.

"Darrin always was a smooth one," Jetson declared angrily to himself.
"And now, just because he raised a 'holler', my football prospects are
set back for this year. Probably I can't make the eleven next year,
either. And it's all Darrin's fault!"

In forming the second half the coach called:

"Mr. Jetson will resume his place as right tackle on the second eleven."

"Jetson's not here, sir," called a midshipman.

"Where is he?" asked Coach Havens.

"I think he went off the field, sir, to un-tog."

"He should not have left the field without permission," remarked the
coach coldly.

Jetson heard of the remark that evening, and his anger against Dave
Darrin increased.




CHAPTER VII

"DID JETSON DO IT?"


No sooner had release from studies sounded through big and handsome
Bancroft Hall, than there came a tap at Dave Darrin's door.

"Come in," called Dave.

Hepson came in first, followed by a score of other midshipmen.

"Say, I didn't hear assembly blow lately," remarked Dan Dalzell, closing
a new text-book and looking up with a smile of welcome.

"Are we intruding--so many of us," inquired Hepson, halting.

"Not on me, anyway," answered Dave pleasantly. "As for Danny boy, don't
mind the little chap. He really believes that study release sounds
before supper-call. Come right in, all of you fellows. Dan barks, but
won't bite."

"And take seats, all of you, do," urged Dan, with unnecessary
hospitality. "After the table and the chairs are used up, we'll provide
tacks for the rest."

"Does this little boy ever have a serious streak?" asked one of the
callers, regarding Dan with feigned interest.

"Yes; whenever he finds himself marked down to 2.1 in more than three
studies," laughed Dave.

"Oh, that's no laughing matter," grimaced another of the visiting
midshipmen.

"I don't suppose you can guess what we came to talk about?" went on
Midshipman Hepson.

"At a wild guess it might be football," hazarded Darrin.

"Wonderful! Marvelous!" gasped another visitor.

"Darry, we've come in to tell you that we believe that you and your
erratic roommate are going to save a desperate situation for us," resumed
the captain of the Navy team. "Not that we were destitute of good players
before. But we lacked enough of different kinds to make a strong,
all-around eleven. Now we've a team that we're not afraid, after more
work, to put up against anything that the Army can show us."

"Now, I wouldn't be too sure," urged Dave. "Confidence is all right, but
don't let it rob us of a jot of practice and work."

"Are you afraid of the Army, Darry?" demanded Hepson.

"I'm not going to be too cock-sure, if the story is true that Prescott
and Holmes are out with the Army team this year."

"Are they such great players!" demanded Hepson.

"They are," Dave responded solemnly, "or were. I know something
about that pair, since I've played on the same eleven with Prescott
and Holmes."

"Are they better than you two, Darry?" Hepson demanded.

"Yes," answered Dave unhesitatingly.

"Is that honesty or extreme modesty?"

"Extreme mod--" broke in Dan Dalzell, but he closed his mouth with a
snap and ducked as he saw three of the visitors making for him.

"It's hard to believe," muttered Hepson, though he spoke uneasily. "Why
do you rank Prescott and Holmes so high, Darry?"

"Well, for one reason, Dick Prescott taught Dalzell and myself the game.
Anything that we know about the game we learned in the team that Prescott
captained."

"Still, it's hard to believe," spoke up Midshipman Joyce. "Darrin, we
look upon you as the best thing that ever happened to the Navy end of the
gridiron."

"I don't know that I care about being 'kidded,'" responded Dave
seriously.

"But we honestly do," contended the same speaker, "and we don't like to
have you tell us that Prescott is a better man."

"But I believe he is."

"Are you afraid of him?"

"I'm not afraid of any one on the gridiron," Darrin retorted bluntly.
"I'll work hard to beat any man that I have to go up against, and if
work, this season, will do it, I'll beat Dick Prescott out!"

"Good! That's the way we like to hear you talk," glowed Hepson.

"And I'll bottle up Holmes and put the stopper in," promised Dan with
solemn modesty.

Again two of the men made a rush for him to quiet him.

"It may be only a rumor that Prescott and Holmes are on the Army eleven,"
spoke up another midshipman.

"No," objected still another, "I had a letter, this afternoon, from a
cousin who has been up to West Point and has seen the Army crowd at work.
The Army is rejoicing over Prescott and Holmes as a pair of precious
finds, and they're both nailed to the colors for this season."

"Then we're going to have a tough time in our game with the Army," Darrin
declared thoughtfully. "And the Army will beat more college teams this
year than usual."

"We won't die until the Army shoots, anyway," promised Hepson. "And now,
Darry, there's another question we want to put to you, and we want an
out-and-out answer. Do you believe that Jetson really meant to trip you
this afternoon?"

"You heard his denial," Dave rejoined.

"Yes."

"Well, Jetson is a midshipman and a gentleman. There has never been any
question here about his honor," Darrin replied. "I accepted his denial of
intention at the time, and I still accept it."

"It's queer, then, how Jetson came to give you such a nasty trip,"
observed another caller.

"I'll tell you what I think really must have happened," Dave continued
frankly. "I think Jet was crazy to stop me. It was on his mind, and he
was determined to do it. He tripped me, of course, but I think he
really acted on an unconscious impulse and without intention. So, at
that rate, the trip was not really intended, since he had not
deliberately planned it."

"Would you be willing to play on the same team with him, Darry?" pursued
Midshipman Hepson.

"Yes, or with any other man in the brigade. I don't suspect any man here
at the Naval Academy of anything intentionally and deliberately
dishonorable."

"Good, Darry!" cried several midshipmen.

For a few minutes the talk grew fast and furious. Then some one looked
at his watch and there was a prompt flight of visitors. Ten minutes later
taps sounded and a master switch turned off the lights in midshipmen's
quarters, with nearly eight hundred young men in their beds and already
dropping asleep.

At eight the next morning the many sections marched off to recitations
and for hours the grind of the day was on. At the Naval Academy, as at
West Point, not even football is allowed to interfere in the least with
studies or recitations. No football player is permitted to go into
section room, after extra practice in the field, and announce himself
unprepared to recite. Only midshipmen of a good grade of scholarship are
permitted to join or remain in the football squad.

Late in the afternoon, when recreation time came, all was speedily
changed. Every member of the squad hastily reported in togs. Scores of
midshipmen not of the squad hastened over to see the practice work. The
scores were presently increased to hundreds. Fifty or more Naval officers
detailed at the yard were scattered along the side lines. Many of the
wives and daughters of officers stationed at Annapolis turned out to view
the work. Other young ladies came from Annapolis. There was also a big
delegation of "St. Johnnies," as the gray-clad young men from St. John's
College are called.

The news had evidently traveled far that the Navy had two new men on the
team who were expected to prove "wonders."

"A big part of this crowd is out to see you and Danny boy," Hepson
remarked to Darrin.

"Haven't they anything better to do with their time, then?" laughed Dave.

"Great Scott, man! Every one of the spectators wants to see the Navy beat
the Army this year."

"But these spectators are a heap cheered up by what they've heard about
you and Dalzell."

Dave, however, went about his work all but unconsciously. Never much
of an egotist, he declined to believe himself the star man of the
Navy eleven.

When Coach Havens called off the two teams that were to play that day,
Jetson observed that he was not called for either.

"It looks as though Darrin has queered me," muttered that midshipman
gloomily to himself. "I didn't think Darrin was quite as bad as that."

After the practice game had started, and Dave had put through the most
brilliant play that he had yet exhibited, the air rang with his name from
hundreds of throats.

"That's the way!" grumbled Jetson. "It's all Darrin now! These idiots
will forget that I was ever at Annapolis."

Jetson sulked about. After the rebuke he had received the day before from
the head coach, he did not dare to carry his sulk so far as to go and
un-tog without leave.

Towards the end of the first half of the practice game, a man on the
second team was hurt enough to be retired, and Joyce was called.

"They might have given me a chance," quivered Jetson sulkily. "I'm a lot
better player than the fool coach imagines. But, anyway, I suppose Darrin
has turned the coach and Hepson against me. I owe Darrin for that one!"

Five minutes later another player of the second eleven was retired with
an injured wrist.

"Howard!" called the coach briskly.

"Excused for to-day, sir," reported another player.

"Any one but me!" growled Jetson.

"Jetson!" sounded the head coach's heavy voice.

Midshipman Jetson started. His face flushed. Then, for an instant, a
sulky impulse seized him to reply that he did not feel up to form to-day.
But the midshipman smothered that desire and started forward.

"Here, sir," he reported.

"Take right guard on second," directed Coach Havens.

"Very good, sir."

The game was resumed. Jetson, however, had a face full of sulkiness. As
he joined the line-up his eyes rested on Dave Darrin.

"I wonder if Jetson means me any harm?" flashed through Dave's mind. In
an instant, however, he dismissed the suspicion.

"Jetson is a midshipman, a gentleman and a man of honor," thought Darrin
generously.

The whistle sounded, the ball was snapped back and passed, Darrin
received it and dashed forward to carry it past the opponents.

In a twinkling there was a staggering crash. Dave was down with the ball,
with men of two teams piled above him.

At the sound of the referee's whistle the mass disentangled itself. Dave
and Jetson were at the bottom of the heap. Jetson was the last man up,
but Dave still lay there.

"Surgeon here?" called the coach's steady voice, devoid of excitement.
But there was anxiety enough when it was seen that Midshipman Darrin
still lay face downward.

"Has Darrin been hurt--our Darrin--the great Darrin?" flew from tongue
to tongue.

"Did Jetson do it?" was another question that was instantly asked.




CHAPTER VIII

DAN TRIES HARD TO KEEP COOL


A surgeon and a hospital man were quickly on the spot, the others,
anxious as they were, drawing back considerately to give the men of
medicine room in which to work.

As Dave Darrin was gently turned over on his back it was seen that Damn's
face was a mass of blood.

"Jetson's work," grunted two or three of the players.

"He did it on purpose!"

"If he didn't, then the fellow is too clumsy to be trusted on the
gridiron, anyway."

"We must chase Jetson away from the squad."

"Silence!" remarked Head Coach Havens, very simply, though in a tone
which meant that obedience must follow.

Jetson, however, was not ignorant of the comments that were passing. His
dark face flushed hotly with anger.

"They'll blame anything on me, if I'm within a mile of the field," he
told himself sullenly.

"Is Mr. Darrin badly injured, doctor!" inquired Lieutenant-Commander
Havens of the Naval surgeon.

"I think not, sir, beyond a possibly nasty mark on the face," replied the
surgeon, as he examined and directed the hospital men. "Mr. Darrin is
merely stunned, from too hard an impact of some sort. He'll soon have his
eyes open--there they come now."

As if to back up the surgeon, Dave opened his eyes, staring curiously at
the faces within his range of vision.

"What's all this fuss about?" Dave asked quietly.

"There isn't any fuss, Mr. Darrin," replied the surgeon. "You were
stunned by the force of that scrimmage, and there's some blood on
your face."

"Let me wipe it off then, please, sir?" Dave begged. "I want to get back
in the game."

"You won't play again, Mr. Darrin," replied the surgeon.

"Not play this season?" demanded Dave in anguished amazement. "Please
don't joke with me, sir."

"Oh, you'll play, after a few days," replied the surgeon, wetting a piece
of gauze from the contents of a bottle that he had taken from his bag.
With the gauze he wiped the blood away from Darrin's cheek, revealing a
surface cut of more width than depth. Then a light bandage was put on
over the cut.

"Now, I guess you can rise all right, Mr. Darrin. This hospital man will
go over to hospital with you."

"I'm not ordered to stay there, I hope, sir?" murmured Dave anxiously.

"For two or three days, at any rate--yes," replied the Naval surgeon.
"Not because you're going to be weak, but because we've got to have you
under our eyes all the time if your face is to heal without a bad scar."

Midshipman Darrin brought his hand up in salute to the surgeon, and again
to Lieutenant-Commander Havens.

"Darrin laid up for a few days!" growled Captain Hepson, of the Navy
team, just after Dave had started. "Now, when every day's work counts!"
Then wheeling suddenly:

"How did Darrin come to get cut in that fashion, anyway! Mr. Jetson, do
you know anything about it?"

"What do you mean, sir?" demanded Jetson, bridling. "Do you insinuate
that I tried to put a scar on Mr. Darrin's face?"

"I asked you what you knew about the accident--if it were an accident?"
Hepson pursued coldly.

"Your 'if,' sir, is insulting!"

Then there came to the spot a presence that could not be treated with
anger. Lieutenant-Commander Havens was determined to know the truth.

"Mr. Jetson, had you anything in your possession, or did you wear
anything, that could cut Mr. Damn's face like that?" demanded the
head coach.

"Nothing, sir, unless the sole of one of my shoes was responsible,"
returned Jetson, barely concealing his anger under a mask of respect to
an officer of the Navy.

"Let me see your shoes; sit down on the ground first, Mr. Jetson."

The midshipman obeyed, though with no very good grace, and held up his
right shoe for the inspection of the head coach.

"Now the other shoe, Mr. Jetson. Hm! Yes; along the inner sole of
this shoe there are signs of what looks very much like blood. See
here, Mr. Hepson."

"Yes, sir; most certainly this is a streak of blood rubbed into the
leather along this rather sharp edge of the sole."

"May I suggest, Mr. Havens," hinted Jetson, "that something else may
have scratched Mr. Darrin's face, and that the blood trickled to my
shoe? I was under Mr. Darrin, somewhat, sir, in the scrimmage when the
bunch went down."

There was really nothing that could be proved, in any case, so the head
coach could only say very quietly:

"Let the practice go on, Mr. Hepson. Put Mr. Wardell temporarily in Mr.
Darrin's place on the line."

There was one in the group who had not said a word so far. But he had
been looking on, his keen eyes studying Jetson's face. That looker-on was
Midshipman Dan Dalzell, who, as the reader knows, sometimes displayed a
good deal of temper.

"Jetson," muttered Dan, as the other midshipman came over by him, "I
shall need a little talk with you at the early convenience of us both."

"Whenever you like," retorted Midshipman Jetson, flashing back a look
of defiance.

Then the game went on. By supper time the men of the brigade knew that
Darrin was getting along comfortably; that he was in no pain and that he
was in hospital only in the hope that he might be saved the annoyance of
wearing a disfiguring scar on his face throughout all his life.

"I'm afraid that some of the fellows think I purposely cut Darrin up in
that fashion," remarked Jetson to his tablemates during the evening meal.

"Don't you know that you didn't?" inquired one of the midshipmen
laconically. None of the other men at table took heed of Jetson's words.

At some of the other tables equal silence did not prevail. Midshipmen who
did not accuse or suspect Jetson of intentional wickedness expressed the
opinion that he was, at all events, careless and not a valuable member of
the football squad.

Jetson himself was wholly aware that he was more or less suspected in the
minds of many, and the knowledge made him savage.

During the few minutes recreation that followed the evening meal, Dan
Dalzell approached the sullen one, who was now standing quite alone.

"Mr. Jetson, I shall be glad to have a talk with you," announced Dan.
"Will you come to my room, or shall I go to yours?"

"Lead the way to your room, sir," replied Jetson stiffly.

Dan did so, and behind the door the two midshipmen faced each other.

"Well, sir!" demanded the visitor.

"Mr. Jetson, both times that you have played against Darrin something has
happened to him."

"Don't insinuate, Mr. Dalzell. If you anything to say, speak out
plainly, sir."

"I hardly know what to say," Midshipman Dan confessed. "As a midshipman,
your honor should be above question."

"Do you wish to remark that it isn't?"

"Why, I don't know," Dan answered frankly. "It seems a fearful thing to
say, or even to think, about a midshipman."

"Mr. Dalzell, either I did, or I didn't, intentionally injure Mr. Darrin.
Yon must think one thing or the other. If you suspect that I did the
thing intentionally, then why beat about the bush?"

"I don't want to beat about the bush, and, on the other hand, I don't
want to do you any injustice, Mr. Jetson, I thought perhaps you would be
willing to help me out by proffering your midshipman's word of honor--"

"And I," rejoined Jetson in cold anger, "consider it insulting, sir, that
I should be asked to pledge my word of honor."

"That is an extreme position to take," protested Dan. "No good man,
when appearances are against him, should be afraid to offer his word
of honor."

"Suppose," sneered Jetson, in suppressed fury, "I should go to the other
extreme, and say that I did it on purpose?"

"Then I'd knock you down, like a dog," Dan answered directly and simply,
"and next call on the men here to drive you forth from the brigade."

"If you think you could knock me down," quivered Midshipman Jetson,
"you'd better go ahead and find out whether your guess is correct.
Dalzell, you've been highly insulting, and I don't mind declaring that a
fight with you would suit me, at present, better than anything that I can
think of."

"Then you have your recourse, in a challenge," Dan hinted promptly.

"What's the need of a challenge, seconds--or of anything but fists? I
don't need them."

"The brigade claims some supervision over fights between the men here,"
Dan replied. "I intend to demand that the class take up, as a class
matter, the mishap to Darrin this afternoon."

"You--you hound!" panted Jetson, in a sudden flare-up of anger.

"Careful!" warned Dalzell, clenching his fists and facing his man
squarely.

With a snort of rage Jetson launched himself forward, aiming two
blows at Dan.

Dan parried the blows coolly, but his eyes flashed.

He had not lost control of himself, but he was warming up to the instinct
of fighting when no other course seemed open.




CHAPTER IX

A NARROW SQUEAK WITH THE O.C.


Jetson's next blow grazed Midshipman Dalzell's chin. The follow-up blow
landed on Dan's left ear.

Now Dalzell "sailed in" in earnest. He attacked forcefully and swiftly.
Jetson was forced to give ground. Dan pursued him around the room. Being
no coward, Jetson stood well up to the work, driving in for himself at
least two out of every five blows that were landed.

Rap-tap-tap! sounded on the door, but neither combatant heard.

Smash! Dan's forceful right landed on Jetson's neck, sending that
midshipman to the floor, whereupon Dalzell sprang back three paces.

"Take your time getting on to your feet," called Dan in a low voice.

"I don't want any time," snapped Jetson, leaping to his feet.

The words of both speakers were heard at the door, and the visitor who
had knocked now promptly entered.

Fortunate it was for the combatants facing each other that the intruder
was not one of the discipline officers. Had it been, both midshipmen
would have been reported at once under charges that would have borne
serious results.

Instead, it was Farley who entered, followed by Page, Hepson and Joyce.

"Wow!" uttered Midshipman Farley in a low voice. Then: "Stop this,
fellows!"

At the order, which Dan knew to be intended for his own good, the latter
turned away, letting his hands fall. Jetson, on the point of a rush,
realized that he had better desist.

"Joyce, you stand outside," ordered Farley in a low voice. "Stand right
at the door. If you see the O.C. (officer in charge) turning into this
corridor, you rap as hard as you can on the door, and we'll understand."

Midshipman Joyce wanted most badly to be a spectator to what was likely
to happen on the inner side of the door, but he had the good sense to
realize that some one must do guard duty, so he stepped outside, closing
the door after him.

"Now, gentlemen, what's this all about?" demanded Hepson in a low,
smooth voice.

"It means," cried Jetson passionately, "that I'm not going to stand any
more of this petty persecution. Everyone has been trying to pretend that
he believes I've been trying to do Darrin up so that he can't play on the
Navy football team. It's all just a mean scheme to keep me from making
the Navy eleven."

"There's no such scheme afloat, or I'd know about it," returned Hepson
coolly. "Fact is, there isn't any intention whatever of playing you on
the Navy team."

"Ah, you admit it!" snapped Midshipman Jetson, first turning white, after
which his face showed a deep crimson of humiliation. "You've already done
the dirty work."

"Fellow, stop this talk!" commanded Hepson, almost at a white heat of
resentment, "Among midshipmen and gentlemen there can be no thought of
what you term 'dirty work.' The fact that you won't play with us is due
to your uncontrollable temper. A fellow who can't control his nerves and
temper isn't fitted to play football--a game that requires cool judgment
at every moment of the game."

"Then, while you're telling me what to stop, you just stop addressing me
as 'fellow,'" cried Jetson, his lip quivering with rage.

"I'll admit that was hasty on my part," agreed Midshipman Hepson, "but it
seemed necessary to use some word to bring you to your senses. And now,
this fight, which would get you both into serious trouble if a discipline
officer came upon the scene, must cease."

"I'm afraid it can't," broke in Midshipman Dalzell with quiet dignity.
"At least, I won't agree to stopping until Mr. Jetson admits himself
satisfied. It was he who started the fight, and only his word can close
it. But we don't want you other fellows pulled into this trouble as
spectators, so we'll wait until you all withdraw."

"If you're determined to fight," rejoined Hepson, who was the only first
classman present, "then we don't want to stop the fight. We'll stay and
see it pulled off fairly. But, Dalzell, do you really want to fight?"

"I didn't want to," Dan answered. "But, now that Mr. Jetson has started
it, it must go on until he's satisfied. Up with your hands, sir, and when
you start in, I'll answer you."

The visitors skipped back, in order to leave the combatants plenty of
room for footwork. Since Jetson had heard definite announcement of the
fact that he could not hope to be called to the Navy eleven, his inward
flame of passion had burned up high. He was now ready to fight with all
the force that there was in him.

In the first few seconds his assault was so resolute that Dalzell was
forced to give ground. As he slowly retreated and shifted, Jetson drove
in more impetuously than ever.

Midshipman Dan found himself at last in a position of advantage.

"Now, hammer him, Danny boy!" advised; Farley, breathing deeply.

"Silence among the spectators," warned Hepson in a low, stern voice.
"Absolutely fair play, gentlemen, to both contestants!"

Again the showering exchange of blows. Jetson, after his late rapid
expenditure of force and nerve-energy, was now just the least bit
confused. Dan landed on one ear, and then against his enemy's chin. Both
were hard, dazing blows, though neither left a mark.

Then an uppercut and Dalzell landed on Jetson's jugular. With, a gasp the
fellow went down to the floor.

"One, two, three, four--" Hepson began counting.

"Don't bother with the count," begged Dalzell "I'll give him all the time
he wants to get to his feet."

Rap-tap-tap-tap! came a banging summons on the door, followed by
Midshipman Joyce's voice demanding:

"Are you in, Danny boy?"

Swift as a flash Hepson and Farley leaped forward, fairly snatching
Jetson, who was still half dazed, to his feet.

In the same instant Page called out cheerily:

"Come in under full steam, whatever craft is outside!"

"Brace up? Jetson! Don't look silly or dazed,", warned Hepson, in a stern
whisper. "That rap was the signal of the approach of the O.C."

Farley was industriously brushing the signs of dust from Jetson's
uniform.

"I tell you, fellows," boomed Hepson's tranquil, earnest voice, "we've
got to hustle every minute of practice time. Nothing else will give us a
chance to win."

"We haven't even a chance if Darry isn't soon back on the gridiron,"
argued Farley.

"Oh, he'll be all right soon," broke in Dan Dalzell eagerly.

Joyce had already stepped into the room, leaving the door open. Now, as
though by instinct, the midshipmen seemed aware that the O.C., who to-day
happened to be Lieutenant Cotton, U.S.N., was standing in front of the
doorway gazing in.

Instantly the middies came to the position of attention, looking straight
ahead of them.

"Good evening, gentlemen," greeted the O.C. "Is anything unusual
going on?"

"We have been discussing the football situation, sir," announced
Midshipman Hepson quite truthfully.

Had Hepson been asked if there had recently been a fight in progress he
would have answered truthfully, but he did not feel called upon to
volunteer damaging information.

"I thought I heard sounds as of some disturbance," remarked the O.C.,
looking at the young men rather sharply. "That is to say, I was under the
impression that there had been some unusual agility in operation. I heard
something that sounded like scuffling."

"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Hepson; "I think it very likely. The men on this
deck, sir, can't think of anything in these days but line-ups and
scrimmage tactics."

"It occurred to me," went on the O.C., "that there was some sound of
scuffling in this room."

"There was, sir," admitted Midshipman Hepson candidly. "There was a
species of scrimmage."

"Was it in connection with football?" inquired Lieutenant Cotton.

"Yes, sir,"--which answer, again, was wholly truthful.

"Ah, I thought I heard something like a scrimmage in the room," assented
Lieutenant Cotton. "Yet remember, gentlemen, that quarters is not the
place for football practice."

"Very good, sir; thank you, sir," replied the unmovable Hepson.

"And remember that it is now very close to the time for study call,"
continued the O.C.

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir. We are just parting to our various
quarters, sir."

"Good evening, gentlemen."

"Good evening, sir."

Lieutenant Cotton passed on down the corridor, and the midshipmen eased
themselves from the rigid position of attention.

"That was a narrow squeak," grunted Hepson. "Now, Jetson, get out ahead."

"I'll renew this argument at another time," retorted Jetson slowly, as he
crossed the floor.

"You don't need to, sir," Midshipman Hepson advised him. "Every gentleman
here will agree with me that Mr. Dalzell had the best of the affair right
up to the end. Nor is Mr. Dalzell under any obligation whatever to afford
you another meeting on the score of to-night's disagreement."

"We'll see about that," snapped Jetson, as he passed through the doorway.

At that instant the study call sounded. The others hastened away to
their quarters.

Dan Dalzell stepped over to the handbowl, washing his hands, after which
he went to his study-table and began to arrange his books.

"It's kind of lonely to sit here without old Darry," sighed Dan dismally.
"I hope he'll be here with me to-morrow evening. No; I don't either,
though. I want him to stay over in hospital until there's no chance
whatever that he'll have to wear an ugly scar through life."

It was three evenings later when Midshipman David Darrin returned to
his own quarters in Bancroft Hall. By this time the surface wound on his
face was healing nicely, and with ordinary care he would soon be without
sign of scar.

"Pills (the surgeon) told me that I'll have to be careful and not let
anything bump this face for days to come," remarked Dave, pointing to the
strip of adhesive plaster that neatly covered his injury.

"Well, you don't need to bump anything," replied Dan quietly. "Hepson
wants you on the gridiron the worst way, but he has told me that he
won't even allow you to get into togs until Pills has certified that
you're fit to play."

"It's tough," sighed Dave, then quietly began his studies.

It is a rare proceeding to send a midshipman to Coventry; a step that is
never taken save for the gravest reasons. Dan, having fought, did not
feel it necessary to bring Jetson's case before a class meeting, and
Jetson escaped Coventry. He was not cut, yet he soon discovered that the
average classmate paid no more heed to him than appeared to be necessary
for courtesy's sake.

After another week "Pills" consented to Dave Darrin's going out for
regular gridiron practice. Dave needed the work badly, for the Navy team
was now on the eve of the first game of the season.

Jetson, with no hope now of making the eleven this year, avoided the
field for a few days.

The first game of the season took place on a Saturday afternoon. The
opponent was Hanniston College. Ordinarily, in the past, Hanniston had
been an easy enough opponent, though there had been years in which
Hanniston had carried the score away from the field.

"How many of the regular team do you want to throw into the game against
Hanniston, Mr. Hepson?" inquired Lieutenant-Commander Havens the night
before the game.

"Every one of them, sir," Hepson answered the head coach. "Until we get
into a real game, we can't be sure that we've the strongest eleven.
To-morrow's game will show us if we have made any mistakes in our
selections."

Even though Hanniston was considered one of the lesser opponents, every
man in the brigade speculated with great interest, that night, on the
probable outcome of the morrow.

"Darrin will have a good chance to prove himself, a dub to-morrow,"
thought Midshipman Jetson darkly. "I hate to wish against the Navy, but
I'll cheer if Darrin, individually, ties himself up in foozle knots!"




CHAPTER X

THE GRIDIRON START


On the day of the game the midshipmen talked eagerly, and mostly of
football, through dinner in the great messhall of the brigade.

"Did any one see the Hanniston infants arrive?" demanded Page.

"Infants, eh!" called Joyce from the next table. "That shows you didn't
see the visiting eleven."

"Why? Are they of fair size?" asked Farley.

"It took two 'buses to bring the regular eleven, besides the subs and all
the howlers," retorted Joyce. "And the regular eleven, I am reliably
informed, tip the scales at four tons."

"Oh, come, now, Joyce, shave off a ton or two," protested Farley.

"I won't take off more than fifty pounds, sir," retorted Joyce with mock
stubbornness. "Say! The Hanniston fellows are enormous."

"Then they've run all to bones and haven't any brains," grinned Dan.
"After all, we don't mind mere bulk, for intelligence wins most of the
games on the gridiron."

"As to their intelligence, I can't say," admitted Joyce. "At any rate,
from the glimpse that I got of the Hans, I should say that they average
two years older than our men."

"Let's throw up the sponge, then," proposed Dalzell demurely. "If we
can't beat the visitors what's the use of playing them? It isn't even
necessary to get into togs. We can send a note to the referee, and he can
award the game to Hanniston."

"Fine!" broke in Hepson scornfully.

"However, I guess we aren't going to have any cinch to-day," joined
in Midshipman Waite, from another table. "I have word from outside,
by the way."

"What word?"

"Well, the Hanniston fellows have brought over some money with which to
back up the howls they're making for their team. They're offering odds of
ten to six that Hanniston wins."

"They stand to lose a lot of money," grinned Hepson.

"But here's the funny part of it," continued Waite. "You know, when the
townspeople in Annapolis think they have a really good thing on us, they
cover the money of visitors in any wagers on the games."

"Then here's hoping that the Annapolis townspeople win a lot to-day,"
laughed Midshipman Hepson.

"Yes, but," returned Waite, "what I hear from town is that the Annapolis
townspeople have been driven to cover; that they aren't taking up the
offers of the visiting Hanniston boys."

"Too bad!" sighed Dave Darrin. "And Annapolis needs the money so
badly, too."

"Are we going to win?" asked Waite bluntly.

"Too early to tell you," replied Hepson coolly. "Ask me at supper
to-night. But the townies won't wager any money on us this year, eh?"

"The Annapolis people have put up some, but not much," replied Waite.

"We're going to win, just the same," announced Dan Dalzell.

"Sure?" questioned several voices.

"Oh, yes! It's all settled now," laughed Midshipman Waite. "I've been
waiting for Danny boy to tell us. Now, we know--we've heard from the
hot-air meter."

There was a laugh in which Dan didn't join readily, though his face
reddened considerably. Midshipman Dalzell was one of those who always
believed that the Navy must win, just because it was the Navy. Some of
the other midshipmen didn't go quite as far as that in their confidence.

"Better not call Danny boy names," advised Dave Darrin gravely. "He
might be sulking at just the time when we need him this afternoon."

"That would be unmilitary," retorted Mr. Waite.

"Oh, no," said Dave lightly. "Even as good a soldier as Achilles sulked
in his tent, you know."

"Achilles? What class was he in, then?" demanded Waite. "I don't remember
the name."

"He was in a class of his own, at the siege of Troy," volunteered Farley.

"Troy, N.Y.?" inquired Waite.

"If you keep on, Waite," muttered Farley, "someone will have to give you
an ancient history book at Christmas. You don't seem well posted on
Greek tales."

"Don't have to be, thank goodness," returned Waite, helping himself to
another piece of beef. "Greek isn't on the list here."

There was abundant time for rest before the game. The players and
subs, for the Navy team, however, were early at dressing quarters.
Jetson hadn't been called as one of the subs., so he walked sulkily
and alone through the grounds while most of the midshipmen strolled,
about in groups.

Half an hour before the time for the game the spectators' seats held
fair-sized crowds. At that time the Naval Academy Band began to play,
just to keep the waiting ones more patient.

Ten minutes later the Hanniston players came on to the field at a slow
trot. Instantly the Hanniston howlers in the audience began to whoop up
the noise. The midshipmen joined in cheers, and then the band took up the
music again.

At first sight of the visitors, some of the Navy people began to have
their doubts about victory. The Hannistons surely were "bulky." In size
and age, the visitors were as formidable as any of the college elevens.

Many of the midshipmen, too, recalled what they had heard Waite say
at table. It seemed little wonder that the popular odds were against
the middies.

But the band, having played its welcome to the Hannistons, who were now
chasing a ball over the field in practice, almost immediately switched
off into the strains of "See, the Conquering Hero Comes!"

All doubts were dispelled for the moment at least, as all the Navy people
present let loose a tremendous cheer in which the midshipmen spectators
led, for now Captain Hepson was leading his own men on to the field, the
hope of the Navy that day.

"Hepson! Hepson!" went up rousingly from the brigade.

"Darrin! Darrin!" howled others.

"Dalzell!"

"Darrin! Darrin!"

"Hepson must enjoy hearing more noise for Darrin than for himself,"
reflected Jetson moodily.

But Hepson, big in body, heart and mind, was intent only on victory. It
did not even occur to the captain of the Navy eleven that Darrin was
getting more of a reception than himself. Hepson was simply and heartily
glad to find himself supported by two such promising gridiron men as
Darrin and Dalzell.

"Remember, Darry, how much we're backing on you to-day," muttered Hepson,
after another round of yells for Dave had been given.

"I can't do everything, and perhaps not much," smiled Dave. "But I'll do
my level best to do all that you call upon me for at my own little spot
in the line."

A din of Hanniston yells was now smiting the air. Uncle Sam's midshipmen
waited with patience and courtesy, but when their turn came they volleyed
forth four times as much as the visiting howlers could supply.

"I hope Darry is in great form to-day," murmured the midshipman seated
next to Jetson.

"He looks to be in as good shape as ever doesn't he?" asked Jetson
sullenly.

"Oh, I forgot," exclaimed the other. "You don't like Darry any
too well."

"I've nothing against him that would make me want to see him in bad
form," grumbled Jetson. "I'm a Navy man and I don't want to see any but
Navy victories."

The toss had just been made, the visitors winning the kick-off. At a sign
from a Navy officer in the field the leader silenced his band and a hush
fell over the gridiron and the seats of the onlookers.




CHAPTER XI

THE BAND COULDN'T MAKE ITSELF HEARD


Within five minutes the Hanniston players had established the fact that
they were not only bulky, but quick and brainy. In fact, though the Navy
promptly blocked the ball and got it, the middies were unable to make
headway against the college men. Then Hanniston took the ball, fighting
slowly but steadily toward the Navy goal line.

"I don't see Darrin making any wonderful plays," thought Jetson to
himself. He was gloomy over seeing the Navy outplayed, but secretly glad
that the spectators had as yet found no occasion to shout themselves
hoarse over Midshipman Dave's work.

Outside of the brigade the other spectators in the Navy seats felt
themselves tinder a cloud of increasing gloom.

"From all the talk I had expected more of Mr. Darrin," remarked an
officer's wife-to her husband.

"Darrin has a fearful Hanniston line against him," replied the officer.
"Captain Hepson realizes that, too, and he isn't pushing Darrin as hard
as you might wish to see."

"We're going to be beaten, aren't we?" asked another Navy onlooker.

It was as yet too early to predict safely, though all the appearances
were that the visitors would do whatever scoring was to be done to-day.

Yet, even when they felt themselves outclassed, the middies hung to their
opponents with dogged perseverance. It took nearly all of the first half
for the Hannistons to place the Navy goal in final, desperate danger.

Then, of a sudden, while the Hannistons worked within a dozen yards of
the Navy goal line, the college boys made a new attack, the strongest
they had yet shown.

There was a bumping crash as the lines came together, at the Navy's
right. Farley and Page were swept clear off their feet and the assailants
swept onward. Another clever attack, backed by a ruse, and one of the
college boys started on a dead run with the ball. In vain the Navy's
backs tried to stop him. The Hanniston boys successfully interfered for
their runner, and the ball was touched down behind the goal line.

Gone were the cheers that had been ascending from the brigade. All the
Navy crowd gasped in dismay. The ball was carried back, kicked, and
Hanniston had scored six points.

"Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha--Hanniston! Wow!" went up derisively from
the visiting howlers.

"Hepson! Hepson! Pull us out!" came the appeal.

"Darry! Darry! Rush it!"

As the two elevens were lining up for another start the time-keeper's
whistle sounded the end of the first half of the game.

Gloomy, indeed, were those who had hoped to see the Navy win. There were
no cheers, save from the visitor-howlers. The best that the leader of the
band could do, was to swing his baton and start in the strains of "'Twas
Never Thus in Olden Times."

"What do you make of the enemy, Hepson?" inquired Joyce, as the middies
rested at the side lines.

"We haven't made anything of them yet, but we've got to make wrecks of
'em before the last half is over," grunted the captain of the Navy.

"How are we going to do it?" asked another player.

"By just hanging at them with sheer grit," replied the captain gravely.
"Fellows, they've beaten us so far, but they haven't worn us out any. Big
fellows as the Hannistons are, they may not have the endurance to hang to
us through all of the coming half."

"That makes me remember a song I heard when on leave this year," grinned
Page. "A part of it runs:

'Said the ant to the elephant,
"Who are ye shoving?
There's one wide river to cross!"'

"And we're the elephants?" inquired Farley in mock innocence.

"Do we look it?" demanded Page in disgust.

"Remember, fellows," warned Hepson, as the signal summoned both teams
back to the field, "many a hopeless game has been won in the last five
minutes. But don't wait. Hammer the college boys from the start!"

"Dalzell and I can stand hard work and pounding whenever you get ready to
put it on us," Dave announced to Hepson. "Don't try to spare us any. Both
of us would sooner be carried away on stretchers than see the Navy lose
its first game to a minor college."

The game was resumed. For ten minutes the Navy played mainly on the
defensive. Indeed, to the spectators it seemed all that the middies could
do against such big fellows as the visitors.

Just after that, however, Hepson passed the silent signal, and then the
midshipmen hurled themselves into the fray to test out all the endurance
that the Hanniston players might possess.

Many a college boy on the opposing line wondered where these smaller men
in the Navy togs had obtained all the fight that they now showed. The big
fellows didn't seem able to stand it long. The Navy had the ball, and now
slowly fought down toward the college goal. Onlookers in the Navy seats
began to stand up, to watch breathlessly, and be ever ready to cheer.

"Hurl little Darry in!" yelled someone hoarsely in a momentary lull in
the noise.

But Hepson, watching every chance with tigerish eyes, was yet
cool-headed, as a football general should be. Twice he used Darrin to
advance the ball, and each time Dave gained a few yards. The third time,
wearied by pounding his head against a human stone wall, Dave failed to
gain more than half a yard. Watchful Hepson sent the ball, after the next
snap-back, over to the Navy's right.

The time of the second half was slipping away, and it now looked as
though the middies might gradually have won by the steady, bull-dog
quality of their tactics.

Nearer and nearer to the college goal line the team of smaller men fought
the pigskin, until at last they had it within six yards of the Hanniston
fortress. But at this point the visitors stayed further progress long
enough to have the pigskin ovoid come to them by a block.

The situation was desperate. Hanniston could not get the ball away from
its present locality, and in dread the college captain sent the ball back
of his own line to a safety.

This counted two for Annapolis, but it also set the ball back twenty-five
yards from the college line.

"Block! block! block--if you can't fight the ball back to the Navy goal,"
was the word that Captain Hart, of the college team, sent along his own
line. "Don't be too reckless. Just fight to keep the Navy from scoring."

"Hepson! Hepson!" came, appealingly, from the seats, as the two elevens
lined up at the twenty-five-yard line.

"Darry! O Darry!"

Grim determination written on their faces, eleven middies awaited the
signal, then hurled themselves forward like tigers.

The ball came to Dave, who started with it. Dan Dalzell, watching his
chum with cat-like eyes, followed and made the best interference that he
had offered that day.

Five and a half yards won!

As center bent for the snap back, a "fake" signal was called by the Navy
quarter-back.

Just as the ball started, the Navy players back of the line started
toward the right The Hanniston men, tired now, but full of grit as ever,
moved to block. The Navy gained a second or two, for the pass was really
to the left, and again Darrin had the pigskin clutched tightly as he
started to ran and deceive. Again Dan and the others of the interference
sustained their idol and champion. Dave went soon to earth, but he had
forced the ball another six yards!

"Darry--oh, Darry!"

"One more play and over the line!"

"You've got the elephants going at last."

"Rush 'em!"

"A touchdown saves us!"

Dan's face was flushed, Dave's white and