Within the nest few days several things happened that were of importance to the new fourth class men.

Other candidates arrived, passed the surgeons, and were sworn into Naval service.

Many of the young men who had passed the surgeons, and who had gone through the dreary, searching ordeals over in grim old Academic Hall, had now become members of the new fourth class.

As organized, the new fourth class started off with two hundred and twenty-four members ­numerically a very respectable battalion.

At the outset, while supplied only with midshipmen’s caps, and while awaiting the “building” of their uniforms, these new midshipmen were drilled by some of the members of the upper classes.

This state of affairs, however, lasted but very briefly.  Graduation being past, the members of the three upper classes were rather promptly embarked on three of the most modern battleships of the Navy and sent to sea for the summer practice cruise.

The night before embarkation Midshipman Trotter looked in briefly upon Dave Darrin and his roommate.

“Well, mister,” announced the youngster, with a paternal smile, “somehow you’ll have to get on through the rest of the summer without us.”

“It will be a time of slow learning for us, sir,” responded Darrin, rising.

“Your summer will henceforth be restful, if not exactly instructive,” smiled Trotter.  “In the absence of personal guidance, mister, strive as far as you can to reach the goal of being sea going.”

“I’ll try, sir.”

“You won’t have such hard work as your roommate,” went on Trotter, favoring Dalzell with a sidelong look.  “And, now, one parting bit of advice, mister.  Keep it at all times in mind that you must keep away from demoralizing association with the forty per cent.”

Statistics show that about forty per cent of the men who enter the U.S.  Naval Academy fail to get through, and are sent back into civil life.  Hence the joy of keeping with the winning “sixty.”

The next morning the members of the three upper classes had embarked aboard the three big battleships that lay at anchor in the Severn.  It was not until two days afterwards that the battleships sailed, but the upper class men did not come ashore in the interval.

Soon after the delivery of uniforms to the new fourth class men began and continued rapidly.

Dave and Dan, having been among the first to have their measure taken, were among the earliest to receive their new Naval clothing.

A tremendously proud day it was for each new midshipman when he first surveyed himself, in uniform, in the mirror!

The regular summer course was now on in earnest for the new men.

On Mondays those belonging to the first and second divisions marched down to the seamanship building, there to get their first lessons in seamanship.  This began at eight o’clock, lasting until 9.30.  During the same period the men who belonged to the third and fourth divisions received instruction in discipline and ordnance.  In the second period, from 10 to 11.30 the members of the first and second division attended instruction in discipline and ordnance while the members of the third and fourth divisions attended seamanship.

In the afternoon, from 3 to 4.45, the halves of the class alternated between seamanship and marine engineering.

All instruction proceeded with a rapidity that made the heads of most of these new midshipmen whirl!  From 5 to 6 on the same afternoon the entire fourth class attended instruction in the art of swimming ­and no midshipman hope to graduate unless he is a fairly expert swimmer!

Wednesday and Saturday afternoons were devoted to athletics and recreation.

A midshipman does not have his evenings for leisure.  On the first five evenings of each week, while one half of the class went to the gymnasium, the other half indulged in singing drill in Recreation Hall.

“What’s the idea of making operatic stars out of us?” grumbled Dan to his roommate on day.

“You always seem to get the wrong impression about everything, Danny boy,” retorted Darrin, turning to his roommate with a quizzical smile.  “The singing drill isn’t given with a view to fitting you to sing in opera.”

“What, then?” insisted Dan.

“You are learning to sing, my dear boy, so that, later on, you will be able to deliver your orders from a battleship’s bridge in an agreeable voice.”

“If my voice on the bridge is anything like the voice I develop in Recreation Hall,” grimaced Dalzell, “it’ll start a mutiny right then and there.”

“Then you don’t expect sailors of the Navy to stand for the kind of voice that is being developed in you in Recreation Hall?” laughed Darrin.

“Sailors are only human,” grumbled Dalzell.

The rowing work, in the big ten-oared cutters proved one of the most interesting features of the busy summer life of the new men.

More than half of these fourth class midshipmen had been accustomed to rowing boats at home.  The work at Annapolis, however, they found to be vastly different.

The cutter is a fearfully heavy boat.  The long Naval oar is surprisingly full of avoirdupois weight.  True, a midshipman has to handle but one oar, but it takes him many, many days to learn how to do that properly.

Yet, as August came and wore along, the midshipmen found themselves becoming decidedly skilful in the work of handling the heavy cutters, and in handling boats under sail.

Competitive work and racing were encouraged by the Navy officers who had charge of this instruction.

Each boat was under the direct command of a midshipman who served as crew captain, with thirteen other midshipmen under him as crew.

When the post of crew captain fell to Dan Dalzell he embarked his crew, gave the order to shove off and let fall oars, and got away in good style.

Then, leaning indolently back Dan grinned luxuriously.

“This is the post I’m cut out for,” he murmured, so that stroke-oar heard him and grinned.

Yet, as “evil communications corrupt good manners,” Dan’s attitude was reflected in his crew of classmates.  The cutter was manned badly at that moment.

“Mr. Dalzell!” rasped out the voice of Lieutenant Fenton, the instructor, from a near-by boat.

Dan straightened up as though shot.  But the Navy officer’s voice continued sternly: 

“Sit up in a more seamanlike manner.  Pay close attention to the work of your boat crew.  Be alert for the best performance of duty in the boat that you command.  For your inattention, and worse, of a moment ago, Mr. Dalzell, you will put yourself on the conduct report.”

The next morning, at breakfast formation, Dan’s name was read from the “pap.”  He had been given five demerits.  This was below the gravity of his offense, but he had been let off lightly the first time.

“You’ve got to stick to duty, and keep it always in mind,” Darrin admonished his chum.  “I don’t intend to turn preachy, Dan; but you’ll surely discover that the man who lets his indolence or sense of fun get away with him is much better off out of the Naval Academy.”

“Pooh!  A lot of the fellows have frapped the pap,” retorted Dalzell.  “Demerits don’t do any harm, unless you get enough of ’em to cause you to be dropped.”

“Well, if there is no higher consideration,” argued Dave, “at least you must remember that the number of demerits fixes your conduct grade.  If you want such liberties and privileges as are allowed to new midshipmen, you’ll have to keep your name away from the pap.”

“Humph!  Setting your course toward the grease mark are you?” jeered Dan.

“Think it over!” urged Dave Darrin patiently.

Before August was over the new fourth class men marched “like veterans.”  They had mastered all the work of drill, marching and parade, and felt that they could hold their own in the brigade when the upper class men returned.

On the 28th of August the three big battleships were sighted coming up the bay in squadron formation.  A little more than an hour later they rode at anchor.

It was not, however, until the 30th of August that the upper classmen were disembarked.

August 31 was devoted to manifold duties, including the hurried packing of light baggage, for now the members of the three upper classes were to enjoy a month’s leave of absence before the beginning of the academic year on October 1.

Then, like a whirlwind mob, and clad in their “cit.” clothes, the upper class men got away on that hurried, frenzied leave.

There was no leave, however, for the new midshipmen.

In lieu of leave, through the month of September, the new fourth class men spent the time, each week-day, from ten o’clock until noon, at the “Dago Department,” as the Department of Modern Languages is termed.

Here they made their start in French.

“When Trotter comes back,” muttered Dan, “if he asks me whether I can talk French, I’ll tell him that I’ve tried, and now I know I can’t.”

It was the last night before the upper classmen were due back from their leave.

Dave and Dan were in their room, poring hard over French, when a light tap sounded on the door.

Right on top of the tap Midshipman Farley, fourth class, entered on tiptoe, closing the door behind him.

This accomplished, Farley dropped his air of stealth, strolling over to the study desk.

“There’s a nice little place in town ­you know, Purdy’s,” began Farley significantly.

“I’ve heard of it as an eating place,” responded Darrin.

“It’s more than that,” returned Farley, smacking his lips.  “It’s an ideal place for a banquet.”

“I accept your word for it,” smiled Dave.

“I don’t ask you to, Darrin,” grinned Farley.  “Like any honest man I’m prepared to prove all I say.  Purdy has received ­by underground telegraph ­orders to prepare a swell feast for eight.  It’s to be ready at eleven tonight.  We had the eight all made up, but two fellows have flunked cold.  We’re to French it over the wall tonight, leaving here a few minutes after taps.  Are you on?”

Farley’s enthusiastic look fell upon the face of Dalzell.

“I’m on!” nodded Dan

“No; you’re not” broke in Dave quietly.

“I’m afraid I must disagree with you, little David,” murmured Dan.

“Oysters, clams, fish ­watermelon!” tempted Midshipman Farley.

“Um-yum!” grunted Dan, his eyes rolling.

“Then you’re with us, Dalzell?” insisted Farley.

“Well, rather ­”

“ ­not!” interjected Dave Darrin with emphasis.

“Now, what are you butting in for, you greasy greaser?” demanded Farley, giving Dave a contemptuous glance.  “Maybe you won’t join us, and maybe we’d just as soon not have as greasy a midshipman as you at the festive board, but Dalzell isn’t tied to your apron strings, are you, Dalzell?”

“No; he’s not,” replied Darrin, speaking for his chum.  “Dalzell will speak for himself, if he insists.  But he and I have been chums these many years, and we’ve often given each other good advice in trying or tempting times.  Dalzell will go with you, if he cares to, for he already knows all that I have to say on the subject.”

“You’ve had your nose stuck down deep in the grease-pot ever since you struck Annapolis!” cried Farley angrily.  “I hope you bilge, Darrin; with all my heart I hope you bilge soon.  We don’t need a mollycoddle like you here in the Naval Academy!”

“Isn’t that about all you want to say?” demanded Dave, looking up with a frown.

“No; it’s not half what I have to say,” cried Farley hotly.  “Darrin, your kind of fellow is a disgrace to the Naval service!  You’re a sneak ­that’s what ­”

“You may stop, right there!” frowned Darrin, rising from his chair.

“I’ll stop when I’m proper ready!” retorted Farley hotly.

“If you don’t stop right now, you’ll finish while engaged in landing on your ear in the hall outside!” warned Dave, stepping forward.

There was a new look in Darrin’s usually patient eyes.  It was a look Farley hadn’t seen there before, and it warned the hot-headed midshipman that he was in danger of going too far.

“Oh, fudge on you, Darrin!” jeered Farley, turning on his heel.  “Going to be with us, Dalzell?

“No,” replied Dan promptly.  “I never travel with the enemies of my friends.”

“Greasers, both of you!” flung back the caller, and left them.

“If that fellow had talked an hour longer I believe I might have lost my patience,” smiled Darrin, as he turned back to his desk.  “But I’m glad you’re not with that outfit tonight Danny boy.  It may turn out a big scrape.”

“Why should it turn out a big scrape.” demanded Dan.

“Oh, you never can tell,” replied Darrin, as he picked up his book.

Farley did not succeed in getting two more midshipmen to join in the Frenching.  Twenty minutes after taps, however, the original six of the fourth class slipped out of Bancroft Hall.

Slyly they made their way to where they had a board hidden near the wall of the Academy grounds.

One at a time, and swiftly, they went up this board, and over the wall.

At Purdy’s they found a meal to tempt the most whimsical appetite.  The meal over they spent much time in singing and story-telling.

It was nearly two in the morning when Farley and his fellow feasters tried to get back into the grounds, over the wall.

They got over the wall, all right, but only to fall into the hands of one of the watchmen, who seemed to have known exactly where to expect their return.

All six were reported to the officer in charge.  At breakfast formation Midshipmen Farley, Oates, Scully, Brimmer, Henkel and Page were assigned fifty demerits each for unauthorized absence during the night.

Farley and his friends were furious.  More, they were talkative.

Had Dave Darrin been less occupied that day he would have noted that many of his classmates avoided him.

Dan did notice, and wondered, without speaking of the matter.

That day all the upper class men returned, and Bancroft Hall hummed for a while with the bustle of the returning hundreds.

Just before the dinner formation Youngster Trotter encountered Dave in the corridor.

“Hullo, mister!” was Trotter’s greeting, and the youngster actually held out his hand.

“I hope you had a mighty pleasant leave, sir,” replied Dave, returning the handclasp.

“Passably pleasant, passably, mister,” returned Midshipman Trotter.  “But see here, mister, what’s this about you and your class that I’ve heard?

“Nothing, so far as I know, sir,” replied Dave, scanning the youngster’s face closely.

“It must be more than nothing,” returned Trotter.  “I understand that more than half of your class are furious with you over something that happened last night.  I’ve heard you called a sneak, mister, though I don’t believe that for a single minute.  But I’ve heard mutterings to the effect that your class will send you to coventry for excessive zeal in greasing, to the detriment of your classmates.  What about it all, mister?”

Dave Darrin gazed at the youngster with eyes full of wonder.

“What about it?” repeated Dave.  “That’s the very thing I’d like to know, sir, for this is the very first word I’ve heard of it.”

Nor could Midshipman Trotter doubt that Dave Darrin had answered in all sincerity.

“Well, you certainly must be innocent, mister, if you’re as puzzled as all this,” replied the youngster.  “Then it must be that malicious mischief is brewing against you in some quarter.  Take my advice, mister, and find out what it all means.”

“Thank you.  I most certainly will, sir,” replied Dave, his eyes flashing.