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.
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 inAugust," 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?" askedDave 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," murmuredDalzell, 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" thatPrescott 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, butI'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," repliedDave. "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.
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 DanDalzell 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 andPage held the corresponding positions on the right end of the line-up.
"Begin the game, the Rustlers to have the ball," calledLieutenant-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. ThenLieutenant-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?" demandedMidshipman 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 andDoyle 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 DaveDarrin increased.
No sooner had release from studies sounded through big and handsomeBancroft 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 onMidshipman 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?" pursuedMidshipman 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.
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-CommanderHavens 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, DanDalzell 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, thatI 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.
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 byMidshipman Joyce's voice demanding:
"Are you in, Danny boy?"
Swift as a flash Hepson and Farley leaped forward, fairly snatchingJetson, 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," announcedMidshipman 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.