The gloom that now hung over Dave Darrin was the thickest, the blackest that he had ever encountered in his short life.

He was fully convinced, of course, that his troubles were the work of some determined and unscrupulous enemy or enemies.

Yet he was equally convinced that he was not likely to catch the plotter against his happiness.  He and Dan had already done all that seemed to be in their power.

On the Saturday afternoon following the tobacco incident the first ray came to light up the gloom ­though it did not take away any of awesome demerits that had piled up against him.

Dave and Dan were standing chatting in a group of about a score of fourth class men when Farley and Page stepped briskly in their direction.

Dave glanced at the pair in some astonishment, for it was weeks since he had been on speaking terms with either of them, and now both looked as though about to address him.

“One moment gentlemen, all, if you please,” called out Midshipman Farley.  “Let no one leave just now.  I have something to say that I wish to make as public as possible.”

Then, turning toward the astonished Darrin, Mr. Farley continued: 

“Darrin, I got into a bad scrape once, and I accused you of carrying the information that resulted in several others and myself being detected.  I was positive in my charge.  I now wish to make you the most public apology that is possible.  I know now that you did not in any way betray myself and my companions.”

“I am glad you have come to this conclusion,” Dave Darrin replied.

“It is not exactly a conclusion,” replied Farley frankly.  “It is a discovery.”

“How did you find it out, Farley?” asked Dan Dalzell, speaking to that midshipman for the first time in many weeks.

“I have the word of the watchman who caught us.  That is old Grierson, and there isn’t a more honest old fellow in the yard.”

“Did you ask Grierson, Farley?” questioned another midshipman gravely.

“No; for that would be to pile on another offense,” replied Farley readily.  “I am well enough aware that a midshipman has no right to go to a watchman about a matter in which the watchman has reported him.  But a civilian is under no such restrictions.  As some of you fellows know, my cousin, Sloan, was here at the Academy yesterday.  Now, Ben Sloan is a newspaper man, and a fellow of an inquiring disposition.  I told Ben something about the scrape I had been in, and Ben soon afterward hunted up Grierson.  Grierson told Ben the whole truth about it.  It seems that Grierson did not have any information from anyone.  He saw our crowd go over the fence the night we Frenched it.  But Grierson was too far away to catch any of us, or recognize us.  So he made no alarm, but just waited and prowled until we came back.  He heard the noise we made trying to get up over the wall from the outside, and ran down to that part of the wall.  He didn’t make any noise, and stood in the shrubbery until we had all dropped over.  Then he stepped out, looked us over quickly and demanded our names.  He had us ragged cold, so there was nothing to do but give him our names.  Now, there’s the whole story fellows, and I’m mighty glad I’ve got at the truth of it.”

“So am I,” muttered Dan dryly.

“Darrin, you haven’t said whether you accept my apology,” Farley continued insistently.  “I’m mighty sorry for the whole thing, and I’m glad you thrashed me as you did when we met.  I richly deserved that for my hot-headedness.”

For just a moment Dave Darrin couldn’t speak, but he held out his hand.

“Thank you, old fellow,” cried Farley, grasping it.  “From now on I hope we shall trust each other and be friends always.”

Farley had been a good deal spoiled at home, and had a hasty, impetuous temper.  His career at Annapolis, however, was doing much to make a man of him in short time.

Several of the other midshipmen spoke, expressing their pleasure that the whole thing was cleared up, and that Dave had proved to be above suspicion.

“And now I’m off to find the other fellows who were with me that night,” continued Farley.  “I’ve told Page, already, but I’ve got to find Scully and Oates, Henkel and Brimmer and put them straight also.”

Five minutes later Farley was explaining to Midshipman Henkel.

“Well, you are the softy!” said Henkel, in a sneering tone.

“Why?” demanded Farley stiffly.

“To fall for a frame-up like that.”

“Do you mean that my cousin lied to me?”

“No; but Grierson certainly did.”

“Old man Grierson is no liar,” retorted Farley.  “He is one of most trusted employes in the yard.  He has caught many a midshipman, but Grierson is such a square old brick that the midshipmen of two generations love him.”

“You’re too easy for this rough world,” jeered Midshipman Henkel.

“Perhaps I am,” retorted Farley.  “But I’m going through it decently, anyway.”

“So you went and rubbed down Darrin’s ruffled fur as gently as you could,” continued Henkel.

“I went to him and apologized ­the only thing a man could do under the circumstances.”

“And now I suppose some of the fellows are trying to build up an altar to Darrin as the class idol?”

“I don’t know.  I hope so, for I’m convinced that Dave Darrin is as decent a fellow as ever signed papers at Annapolis.”

“Go on out and buy some incense to burn before Darrin,” laughed Henkel harshly.

Perhaps Mr. Henkel might not have been as flippant had he known that, all the time, Farley was studying him intently.

“So, in spite of all explanations, you still have no use for Darrin?” asked Midshipman Farley.

“I have just as much use for him as I have for any other big sneak,” retorted Mr. Henkel.  “He betrayed us to the watchman, and I don’t care what explanations are offered to show that he didn’t.”

“And you won’t be friendly with Darrin?” insisted Farley.

“I?” asked Henkel scornfully.  “Not for an instant!

“Well, I hardly believe that Darrin will care much,” replied Mr. Farley, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

“It’s a mighty good thing that Darrin is going to be dropped out of Annapolis,” growled Henkel to himself.  “He’s altogether too slick in playing a dirty trick on people and then swinging them around so that they’ll fawn upon him.  When Farley first came here he was a fellow of spirit.  But he’s been going bad for some time, and now he’s come out straight and clean for grease-mark!”

Saturday afternoon proved a dull time for Dave Darrin.  The heavy pile of demerits opposite his name prevented his getting leave even to stroll out into the town of Annapolis.  Dan could have gone, but would not leave his chum.

Sunday morning there was chapel, but Dave, usually attentive, heard hardly a word of the discourse.  Sunday afternoon he turned doggedly to his books.  Dan, who was getting along better, and who just now, stood three sections higher than Dave in math., went visiting among the members of his class.

Sunday evening all the cadets were again busy at their studies until 9.30.  As early as the regulations allowed Dave turned down his bed, undressed and got into it, feeling utterly “blue.”

“It’s no use,” he told himself, as he lay awake, thinking, thinking, thinking.  “Some one has it in for me, of course.  But Dan and I together can’t find out who the rascal is.  He may try nothing against me again, for weeks, but sooner or later he’ll turn another demerit trick against me.  Before January I shall be home again, looking for some sort of job.”

Before eight o’clock the following morning the class, after muster, broke into sections which marched away to recitation in math.

Dan Dalzell was now section leader of one group.  Dave marched in the ranks of a much lower section.

This morning the section with which Dave marched was one man short.  Not until the members had taken their seats, or places at the blackboards, did Darrin give heed enough to note that it was Farley who was absent.

The section leader, however, had reported that Mr. Farley was absent by permission of the head of the Department of Mathematics, “for purposes of study.”  Unusual as this excuse was the instructor had accepted it without making any inquiry.

If Farley was in his room for purposes of study, then what kind of “study” could it be?

For at that precise moment, Midshipman Farley was standing close to a tiny crack between the edge of his room door and the jamb.  He was “peeking” out attentively.

Curiously enough Midshipman Page, Farley’s roommate, had also been excused from attending section work.  At this moment Mr. Page sat tilted back in his chair, with his feet resting across the corner of the study table.

A most unmilitary pose for Mr. Page, to be sure.  Yet what need was there to fear report with roommate Farley thus industriously standing by the door?

So Mr. Page hummed softly to himself and stared out of the window.

Midshipman Farley remained by the door until he was becoming decidedly wearied of his occupation, and Page had several times shifted his feet.

Then, all of a sudden, Midshipman Farley turned with a low, sharp hiss.

“It?” whispered Midshipman Page, rising swiftly.

“Yes,” nodded Farley.

Midshipman Page walked swiftly out of the room, though his heels did not make as much noise as usual.

Just after Page had left the room Midshipman Farley stole along the corridor, halting before a door.

There he paused, as though on duty.  It was not long before his erect attitude was accounted for, for Lieutenant Nettleson, the officer in charge, came down into the corridor, followed by the cadet officer of the day.

Just a little way behind them walked Midshipman Page.

Farley stood quickly at attention, saluting the officer in charge, who returned the salute.