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H. Irving Hancock
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 108 pages of information about Dave Darrin's Second Year at Annapolis.

“How did it come out?” demanded Dan Dalzell eagerly, as soon as his chum entered their quarters.

Dropping into a chair, Dave told the story of the double fight briefly.  He told it modestly, too, but Dan could imagine what his chum omitted.

“David, little giant,” exclaimed Dalzell, leaping about him, “that fight will become historic here!  Oh, how I regret having missed it.  Don’t you ever dare to leave me out again!”

“It wasn’t such a much,” smiled Dave rather wearily, as he went over to his study desk.

“Perhaps it’s indiscreet, even of a chum,” rambled on Dalzell, “but what—­”

“What was the fight all about?” laughed Dave softly.  “Yes; I suppose you have a right to know that, Danny boy.  But you must never repeat it to any one.  Treadwell wanted to dance with Belle at the hop, but she had already noticed him, and declared she didn’t want to dance with him.  Of course that settled it.  But Treadwell accused me of not having asked Belle.”

“The nerve !” ejaculated Dan in disgust.

“And then he accused me of lying when I declared I had done my best for him,” continued Dave.

“I feel that I’d like to fight the fellow myself!” declared Dan Dalzell hotly.

“Oh, no, you don’t; for Treadwell apologized to-night, and we have shaken hands.  We’re all comrades, you know, Danny boy.”

* * * * *

Unknown to any of the parties to the fight, there had been spectators of the spirited double battle.

Two men, a sailor and a marine, noting groups of midshipmen going toward the historic battle ground of midshipmen, had hidden themselves near-by in order “to see the fun.”

These two enlisted men of the Navy had been spectators and auditors of all that had taken place.

Not until the last midshipman had left the ground did the sailor and marine emerge from their hiding place.

“Well, of all the game fights!” muttered the marine.

“Me?  I’m hoping that some day I fight under that gallant middy,” cried the sailor.

“Who is this Mr. Darrin?” asked the marine, as the pair strolled away.

“He’s a youngster—­third classman.  But he’s one of the chaps who, on the cruise, last summer, went over into a gale after another middy—­Darrin and his chum did it.”

“There must be fine stuff in Mr. Darrin,” murmured the marine.

“Couldn’t you see that much just now?” demanded the sailor, who took the remark as almost a personal affront, “My hat’s off to Mr. Darrin.  He’s one of our future admirals.  If I round out my days in the service it will be the height of my ambition to have him for my admiral.  And a mighty sea-going officer he’ll be, at that!”

In their enthusiasm over the spectacle they had seen, the sailor and the marine talked rather too much.

They were still talking over the battle as they strolled slowly past one of the great, darkened buildings.

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