“What’s in the wind?” asked Danny Grin, eyeing Dave anxiously.
“Cantor,” Dave returned, grimly.
“Is he trying to make trouble for you because you behaved like a brave man?” Dan asked, angrily.
“That is his plan.”
“The contemptible hound!” ejaculated Dan Dalzell. “Do you think he is going to succeed in putting it over on you?”
“That’s more than I can predict,” Darrin answered his chum. “Cantor is a bright man, and in rascality I believe him to be especially efficient.”
“I’d like to call the fellow out!” muttered Dan.
“Don’t think of it,” Dave Darrin urged, hastily, for he knew only too well the quality of Danny Grin’s temper when it was fully aroused. “A challenge would suit Cantor to the skies, for it would enable him to have my best friend kicked out of the Navy.”
“I won’t think of it, then,” promised Ensign Dalzell, “unless that fellow tries my temper to the breaking point.”
Dave went hastily to his own quarters, where he laid aside his sword and revolver, bathed and dressed himself. Then he sent a messenger in search of a typewriting machine. When that came Darrin seated himself before it. Rapidly, he put down all the essential circumstances of the night’s work.
Scanning the sheets closely, Dave made two or three minor changes in his report, then signed it.
Through a messenger, Darrin inquired if Lieutenant Cantor could receive him. A reply came back that Dave might report to him at once.
“This is my report, sir,” Dave announced,
Dave was about to turn on his heel and leave the room, when Lieutenant Cantor stopped him with:
“Wait a few moments, if you please, Darrin. I wish to run hastily through your report.”
Declining the offer of a chair, Darrin remained standing stiffly.
As he went through the report, Cantor frowned several times. At last he laid the signed sheets down on his desk.
“Darrin,” asked the division commander, “do you realize that you are out of place in the Navy?”
“I do not, sir,” Dave answered, coldly.
“Well, you are,” pursued Lieutenant Cantor. “With your talents you should engage in writing the most improbable kinds of romances.”
“That report is true in every respect, sir,” Dave frowned.
“It appears to me to be a most improbable report—–as highly improbable as any official report that I have ever seen.”
“The report is true in every detail,” repeated Dave, his face flushing.
Lieutenant Cantor rose from his desk, facing his angry subordinate.
“You lie!” he declared, coldly.
“You cur!” Dave Darrin hissed back, his wrath now at white heat.
Instantly he launched a blow full at Cantor’s face. The lieutenant warded it off.
Within three or four seconds several blows were aimed on both sides, without landing, for both were excellent boxers.