It was not until long after that Darrin found out the explanation of the accident to the tungsten bulb. Farley, during Dan’s absence, had been almost as much disturbed as had Dave. So Mr. Farley was wide awake. When he heard Lieutenant Adams receive the message in the corridor Farley began to wonder what he could do. Presently he was made to rise, with Page, stand at attention, and answer the questions of the discipline officer.
Soon after Dave and Dan were called up, Farley, listening with his door ajar half an inch, slipped out and hit the tungsten burner a smart rap just in the nick of time to save Dan Dalzell’s Navy uniform to that young man.
BAD NEWS FROM WEST POINT
Bump! The ball, hit squarely by the toe of Wolgast’s football shoe, soared upward from the twenty-five-yard line. It described an arc, flying neatly over and between the goal-posts at one end of the athletic field.
“That’s the third one for you, Wolly,” murmured Jetson. “You’re going to be a star kicker!”
“Shall I try out the rest of the squad, sir?” asked Wolgast, turning to Lieutenant-Commander Parker, this year’s new coach.
“Try out a dozen or so of the men,” nodded coach, which meant, in effect: “Try out men who are most likely to remain on the Navy team.”
“Jetson!” called Wolgast.
Jet tried, but it took his third effort to make a successful kick.
“You see, Wolly, who is not to be trusted to make the kick in a game,” remarked Jetson with a rueful smile.
“It shows me who may need practice more than some of the others—–that’s all,” answered Wolgast kindly.
With that the ball went to Dave. The first kick he missed.
“I can do better than that, if you’ll give me the chance,” observed Darrin quietly.
At a nod from Coach Parker, Dave was allowed five more trials, in each one of which he made a fair kick.
“Mr. Darrin is all right. He won’t need to practice that very often, Mr. Wolgast,” called coach.
Then Dan had his try. He made one out of three.
“No matter, Danny Grin,” cried Page solacingly, “we love you for other things that you can do better on the field.”
Farley made two out of three. Page, though a rattling good man over on the right flank, missed all three kicks.
“I’m a dub at kicking,” he growled, retiring in much disgust with himself.
Other midshipmen had their try, with varying results.
“Rustlers, forward!” shouted Lieutenant-Commander Parker.
Eleven young fellows who had been waiting with more or less patience now threw aside their blankets or robes and came running across the field, their eyes dancing with keen delight.
“Mr. Wolgast, let the Rustlers start the ball—–and take it away from ’em in snappy fashion!” admonished coach.