“Dave, I’m getting nervous!”

“Is that the best way you can find to enjoy yourself?” demanded the taller boy.

“But I am, Dave ­dreadfully nervous!” insisted Dan Dalzell positively.

“Well, you’ll have to conceal it, then.  The doctors at the United States Naval Academy won’t pass any nervous wrecks,” laughed Dave Darrin.

“Don’t you understand?” demanded Dan, in a hurt voice.  “The nearer we get to Annapolis the more nervous I’m getting.”

“You’d better drop off, then,” hinted Dave ironically, “and take the next car back to Odenton and Baltimore.  What earthly good would a Naval officer be who was going to get nervous as soon as he came in sight of an enemy?”

“But I wouldn’t get nervous in the sight the enemy,” flared up Dan Dalzell.

“Then why get nervous about the folks down at the Naval Academy?  They all intend to be your friends!”

“I guess that is true,” Dan went on.  “Of course, back in April, we went before the Civil Service Commission and took our academic examinations.  We passed, and haven’t got that to go up against again.”

“We passed the home medical examiner, too,” retorted Dave.  “In fact, you might say that we passed the sawbones with honors.

“But that medical chap put in a long time listening at my chest,” complained Dan Dalzell, who was undeniably fidgeting in his seat.  “Then, too, the civil service sawbones told me that, while he passed me, as far as he was concerned, I’d have to stand the ordeal again before the Naval surgeons at Annapolis.”

“Well, he did just the same thing with me,” rejoined Darrin.  “You just keep your eye on me, Dan!  Do you see me shaking?  Do you hear my voice falter?  See me burning any blue lights?

“Perhaps, Dave, you don’t take the whole business as much to heart as I do,” continued Dan Dalzell almost tremulously.  “Why, Great Scott, if they drop me at the Naval Academy, I’ll be the bluest fellow you ever saw!  But maybe you won’t care, Dave, whether you are dropped or not.”

“Won’t I?” grumbled Darrin.  “The Navy is the only thing in life that I care about!”

“Then aren’t you nervous, just now?” demanded Dan.

“If I am, I’m not making a show of myself,” retorted Darrin.

“But are you nervous?” begged Dan.

“No!” roared Dave, and then he allowed a grin to creep over his face.

“Oh, go ahead and say so tonight,” jeered Dan.  “Tomorrow, if you have the good luck to get sworn in, you’ll have to quit fibbing and begin practicing at telling the truth.  A midshipman at the Naval Academy, I understand, is kicked out of the service if he tells lies.”

“Not quite ­only in case he gets caught,” laughed Dave Darrin.

“But really, about being nervous ­”

“Oh, forget that sort of nonsense, won’t you, Dan, old fellow?” begged his chum.  “Just get your eye on the lovely country we’re going through.”

It was just about the first of June.  Our two young travelers had come by train, from Baltimore to a little country junction.  Thence they had traveled, briefly, by trolley, to Odenton.  There, after a wait of some minutes, they had boarded another trolley car, and were now bowling along through the open country of that part of Maryland.  At the end of their journey lay the historic little town of Annapolis.  It was now after seven o’clock; still daylight, the fag end of a beautiful June day in Maryland.

Dave Darrin and Dan Dalzell had been appointed as midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy.  If they should succeed in passing the four years’ course in the big government school at Annapolis, they would then be sent to sea for two years, as midshipmen, after which they would return to Annapolis for their final examinations.  Passing these last examinations, they would then be commissioned as ensigns in the United States Navy, with the possibility of some day becoming full-fledged admirals.

Readers of our High School Boys Series have no need of further introduction to Dave and Dan.

These two young men will be remembered as former members of Dick & Co., six famous chums back in the lively little city of Gridley.

Dick Prescott, Greg Holmes, Dave Darrin, Dan Dalzell, Tom Reade and Harry Hazleton had composed the famous sextette who, in their day at Gridley High School, had been fast chums and leaders in all pertaining to High School athletics in their part of the state.

Following their High School days, however, the six chums had become somewhat widely scattered.  Dick Prescott and Greg Holmes secured appointments to the United States Military Academy.  Readers of our West Point Series are already familiar with the stirring doings and life of Dick and Greg at the fine old Army Academy on the Hudson.  At the time this present narrative opens Dick and Greg had been nearly three months as plebe cadets, as told in the first volume of the West Point Series, under the title, “Dick PRESCOTT’S first year at west point.”

Tom Reade and Harry Hazleton had gone from Gridley High School to the far West, where they had connected themselves with a firm of civil engineers engaged in railway construction.  What befell Tom and Harry is told in “The young engineers in Colorado,” the first and very entertaining volume in the Young Engineers Series.

Readers of “The high school captain of the team” recall how Dave Darrin won his appointment to the Naval Academy, as did Dick Prescott his chance for West Point, from the Congressman of the home district.  Dalzell’s appointment, on the other hand, came from one of the two United States Senators from that state.

And here Dave and Dan were, on a trolley car from Odenton, rapidly nearing Annapolis.

At the forward end of the car was a small compartment set apart for the use of smokers Dave and Dan did not smoke; they had take seats in this compartment because they wished to be alone.

“You asked me to let you know when we got near Annapolis, gentlemen,” announced the conductor, a cheery-faced young man, thrusting his head in.  “There is the town right ahead of you.”

“You said that you go by the hotel, I think?” Dave asked.

“I’ll stop and call the hotel,” replied the conductor.  “We’ll be there in less than two minutes.”

It was a quaint, old-fashioned, very pretty southern town that the car now entered.

“I’ll bet they’re a thousand years behind the times here,” sighed Dalzell, as they gazed about them.

“Not at the Naval Academy, anyway,” retorted Dave Darrin.

“Oh, of course not,” Dan made haste to agree.

The car passed an imposing-looking brick building that housed the post-office, then sped along past the handsome, dignified old residence of the Governor of Maryland.  Up on a hill at their left the State Capitol stood out.  Then the car bell clanged, and the car stopped.

“Maryland Hotel!” called the conductor.

Dave and Dan caught up their suit cases and descended from the car.  At their right, the found the steps leading to the porch of the roomy old hotel.  In another moment they were in the office, registering.

“You want a room together, gentlemen?” asked the clerk.

“Surely,” retorted Dan.  “My friend is always afraid when the gas is turned off.  My presence quiets him.”

“Pardon me, gentlemen, but are you on your way to the Naval Academy?” queried the clerk.

“Yes,” nodded Dave quietly.

“Then you will want a room with bath, of course.  You’ll have to strip before the medical examiners tomorrow.

“A room with bath, of course,” assented Dan.  “I never have stopped at a hotel without a bathroom.”

Dan didn’t mention that this was the first time he had ever stopped at a hotel in his short life.

“Front!” called the clerk.

A small black boy in knee trousers came forward, picked up their suit cases and led the way to the next floor.

“My!  I wonder who else is expected,” muttered Dalzell, as the two young travelers found themselves in their room after the boy had left them.

It was an enormous room, and the three beds in it did not crowd the apartment in the least.  All the furniture was of a massive and old-fashioned pattern.

A few minutes later, with face and hands washed ­clean collars, clothes neatly brushed, the two clear-eyed, manly-looking young fellows returned to the first floor.

“I suppose this hotel is full of young men like ourselves, wondering what tomorrow will bring them, when they get before the sawbones,” muttered Dan.

“Candidates, like ourselves, you mean?” suggested Darrin.  “We’ll inquire.”  With that, he approached the clerk and made the inquiry.

“Oh, no,” replied the clerk, in answer to Dave’s question.  “There are only two other candidates besides yourselves stopping here.  There are a good many young men in town, of course, but most of them have been here for some weeks, and are in lodging houses.  A good many young men come here, you know, to attend the Naval preparatory schools before they go up for their examinations.”

“We’ve had our academic examinations, and have passed,” announced Dan.

“What about supper, sir?” asked Dave, who, in his short trip through the South, had noticed that in this part of the country the “sir” is generally employed.

“You’ll find supper ready, gentlemen,” replied the clerk, pointing the way to the dining room.

So the two young men passed in and enjoyed their first sample of southern cookery.

At this hour there were only a half dozen other people in the dining room ­none of them interesting, Darrin decided, after hastily surveying the other diners.

The meal over, the two young candidates sauntered again out into the hotel office.

“Any midshipmen out around the town, sir?” Darrin asked.

“Hardly, sir,” replied the clerk, with a smile.  “At this hour the young gentlemen are in their rooms at Bancroft Hall.”

“What does a midshipman look like?” ventured Dalzell.

“Like a human being, of course,” Dave laughed.

“You mean the uniform?” inquired the clerk.  “A midshipman, sir, wears a dark blue uniform, like an officer’s, and a visored cap, Naval pattern.  He also wears the anchor insignia on each side of his coat collar.”

Dave and Dan soon walked over to the open doorway and stood looking out upon the street, in which, at this time, few people were passing.  Hearing a step in the office, Dan quickly turned.  He saw a young man coming through the office, holding himself very erect.  This young man was in dark blue uniform, with visored cap, and on each side of his collar was the anchor insignia.  Past the anchor were two bars, but Dalzell didn’t notice that at the moment.

“There’s a real midshipman,” whispered Dan, plucking at Dave’s sleeve.  “I’m going to speak to him.”

“Don’t you do it,” warned Dave, in an undertone.  “You may make a mistake.”

“Mistake?” echoed Dan.  “With that anchor on his collar?”

Hastily Dan Dalzell slipped back into the office, going up to the young man in uniform, who had stopped before the desk.

“Good evening,” began Dan politely.  “I’d like to introduce myself.  ’Tomorrow I expect to be one of the crowd.  You’re a midshipman, aren’t you?”

“I’m an officer of the Navy,” replied the uniformed stranger coldly, as he half turned to glance briefly at Dalzell.  “You are a candidate, I suppose?  Then I fancy you will report at the superintendent’s office in the morning.”

With that the Naval officer turned away, leaving poor Dalzell feeling decidedly dumfounded.

“Wasn’t that a midshipman?” gasped Dan, in a whisper.

“That gentleman is a lieutenant in the Navy,” replied the clerk, with a slight smile.

Crestfallen Dan hurried back to Darrin, brushing off his sleeves with his hands as he walked.

“Served you right; you must get over being fresh,” Dave Darrin rebuked his chum.  “But what is the matter with your sleeves?”

“I’m brushing the frost off of them,” murmured Dan dejectedly.  “Did you notice the ice-bath that fellow threw over me?”

“Come out for a walk,” urged Dave.  “But be careful where you step and what you say to others.”

The two young men strolled down the street.

“Well,” smiled Darrin, “I must say, Dan, that you appear to be getting all over your nervousness.”

“No; I’m still nervous,” protested Dan.  “Before, I was afraid I wouldn’t get into the Naval Academy.  Now, I’m only afraid that I shall.”

“What nonsense are you talking now?” demanded Darrin, giving his chum a sharp look.

“Why, if they’re all going to be as chesty as that near-officer I spoke to in the hotel,” blinked Dan, “I’m not so sure that I want to go in with the bunch.”

“That officer wasn’t either chesty or snobbish,” rejoined Darrin.

“Then you will kindly explain what he tried to do to me?”

“That’s easy enough.  That Naval officer recognized in you a rather common type ­the too-chummy and rather fresh American boy.  Down here in the service, where different grades in rank exist, it is necessary to keep the fresh greenhorn in his place.”

“Oh!” muttered Dan, blinking hard.

“As to your not wanting to go into the service,” Dave continued, “if you should fail, tomorrow, in your physical examination, you would be as blue as indigo, and have the blue-light signal up all the way back home.”

“I don’t know but that is so.  Yes; I guess it is,” Dalzell assented.

“Now, there are at least ninety-nine chances in a hundred that you’re going to pass the Navy doctors all right, Dan,” his chum went on.  “If you do, you’ll be sworn into the Naval service as a midshipman.  Then you’ll have to keep in mind that you’re not an admiral, but only a midshipman ­on probation, at that, as our instructions from the Navy Department inform us.  Now, as a new midshipman, you’re only the smallest, greenest little boy in the whole service.  Just remember that, and drop all your jolly, all your freshness and all your patronizing ways.  Just listen and learn, Dan, and study, all the time, how to avoid being fresh.  If you don’t do this, I’m mighty confident that you’re up against a hard and tough time, and that you’ll have most of the other midshipmen down on you from the start.”

“Any more ‘roast’ for me?” asked Dalzell plaintively.

“No; for, if you need any more, you’ll get it from other midshipmen, who don’t know you as well as I do, and who won’t make any allowances for your greenness and freshness.”

“My!” murmured Dan enthusiastically.  “Won’t I quiver with glee the first time I see you being called for twelve-inch freshness!”

Yet, despite their wordy encounters, the two remained, as always, the best and most loyal of friends.

For an hour and a half the two youngsters roamed about Annapolis, taking many interested looks at quaint old buildings that had stood since long before the Revolutionary War.

At last they turned back to the hotel, for, as Dalzell suggested, they needed a long night’s sleep as a good preparation for going before the Naval surgeons on the next day.

Five minutes after they had turned out the gas Dave Darrin was soundly, blissfully asleep.

In another bed in the same room Dan Dalzell tossed for fully half an hour ere sleep caught his eyelids and pinned them down.  In his slumber, however, Dan dreamed that he was confronting the superintendent of the Naval Academy and a group of officers, to whom he was expounding the fact that he was right and they were wrong.  What the argument was about Dan didn’t see clearly, in his dream, but he had the satisfaction of making the superintendent and most of the Naval officers with him feel like a lot of justly-rebuked landsmen.