“On your head, mister.  Now, let us have paragraph number four, with tragic, blank-verse effect.”

That was Jennison’s command

Brooks manifested a fondness for paragraph number one, to the air of “Yankee Doodle.”

Others dropped in on Dave, after release at 9.30, evenings, and called for other paragraph rendered in various ways.  He was also overhauled, out of doors, in the brief recreation period after dinner, and made to do various stunts with the unfortunate paragraphs from the “Bazoo.”

By the time the first week of this was over Dave Darrin wished most heartily that Mr. Pollock had never founded the Gridley “Blade.”

It is rare that second class men take any part in hazing; it is almost unheard of for a first class man to take any really active part in running a plebe.

Midshipman Henley, first class, proved an exception to this rule.  Regularly, once a day, he met Darrin and ordered him to sing paragraph number one to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.”

If Dave resented any part of the torment, he was especially annoyed by Henley’s unusual conduct.

Naval needs brought a strange revenge.

Reports had reached the Navy Department from commanders of warships in commission that many of the graduates of the Naval Academy serving with the fleets did not possess sufficient knowledge of the command of boat crews.

In the past first class men had not been bothered with rowing drills, which they were supposed to have thoroughly mastered earlier in their course.

Acting on word from the Navy Department the superintendent of the Naval Academy had the first class men ordered out for rowing drills.  All who showed sufficient skill were released from such drills.  The others were sent to drill with the fourth class men.

Four of Dave’s boat crew of fourth class men were transferred to another crew, their places being taken by four first class men who had been found sadly deficient in rowing drill.

“Will one of the first class men serve as crew captain, sir?” asked Darrin.

“Certainly not,” replied Lieutenant Edgecombe.  “You will still keep command of your crew, Mr. Darrin.  And you will be expected to see that these first class men are most thoroughly grounded in the boat drill.  Do no spare any of them in the least because they are upper class men.”

“Very good, sir,” Darrin answered, saluting.

Midshipman Henley was one of the four assigned to Dave’s crew.

There was a deep scowl on Henley’s face when he reported for the first boat drill under a plebe crew captain.

As the boat was pushed off, after the crew had embarked, Darrin was alert only to his duty as the man in charge of the boat.

Before the boat had gone a hundred yard Dave called crisply: 

“Number four, handle your oar with more energy and precision!

“Don’t get too stiff, mister,” growled Midshipman Henley.

Darrin returned the black look coolly.

“Number four, when addressing the crew captain, you will employ the word, ‘sir.’  And you will pay strict attention to criticisms of your work.”

“Beats all how these plebes think they’re men!” growled Mr. Henley disgustedly, without looking at Dave.

“No talking in the crew,” called Dave

Henley subsided, for he had been trained to habits of obedience.  Had the man in command been a member of his own class there would have been no trouble whatever, but Henley resented being at the orders of a fourth class man.

“Number four, you are lounging,” rebuked Darrin quietly, but firmly.  “Correct your deportment, sir.”

Dave gazed so steadily at Midshipman Henley that the latter, though he colored, took a more seamanlike attitude for a while.  Bitter thoughts, however, were seething in the mind of this first class man.  After a few minutes Henley again struck his improper attitude.

“Mr. Henley, upon your return put yourself on the report for taking an unseamanlike attitude after having been once corrected,” directed Dave, in a businesslike tone.

The hot blood leaped to Henley’s face and temples.  He opened his mouth, intent upon making a stinging retort.

But Dave was glancing at him so coolly, compellingly, that the older midshipman now realized that he had gone as far as was safe.

During the rest of the drill Mr. Henley performed his work well enough to escape further rebuke.

When the crew was dismissed, however, Henley wore a blacker look than ever as he stalked along to the office of the officer in charge.

Here Henley picked up one of the report blanks, filled it out as briefly as possible, an signed his name, next turning in the report.

Immediately after supper that night, and before the signal sent the midshipmen to their studies, Henley stepped up to Dave.

“Mister, I want a word in private with you.”

“Certainly, sir,” replied Dave.  He was no longer crew captain on duty, but a fourth class man answering a first class man.

Henley conducted Dave out of earshot of any one else before he turned to say, hissingly: 

“Mister, you used an upstart’s privilege of abusing your authority this afternoon.”

“I think not, sir,” replied Dave quietly.

“You put me on report for no other reason than that I had made you sing extracts from the ‘Bazoo,’” charged the first class man.

“That reason or thought never entered my head, sir.”

“I say it did!”

“Then I am very sorry to have to reply that you are entirely in error.”

“You tell me that I am making a false statement?” demanded Midshipman Henley, more angrily.

“If you choose to consider it in that light, sir.”

“Mister, you are touge, ratey, impudent and worthless!” declared Henley hotly.

“Then I infer, sir, that you do not wish to waste any more time upon me?”

“Oh, you will not get off as easily as that,” sneered Midshipman Henley.  “You are a good-sized fellow, and you have some fourth class reputation as a fighter.  We shall not be so badly or unevenly matched, mister, I shall send a friend to inform you that I have called you out.”

“Then, sir, your friend will save time by seeking Mr. Dalzell, of the fourth class, who will be informed that he is to represent me.”

“Very good, mister.”

“That is all you wish to say to me, sir?”

“You may go, mister.”

Dave Darrin walked away, his mind full of mighty serious thoughts.

In the first place, for a midshipman to call out another, for reporting him for breach of discipline, is about as serious an offense as a midshipman can ordinarily commit.  It insures, if detected, the instant dismissal of the challenger.  And the challenged midshipman, if he accepts, held to be equally guilty.  So are the seconds.

In accepting this challenge, which he had done instantly, Dave Darrin well knew that he placed his chances of remaining at the Naval Academy in great peril.  He was also aware that he ran Dan’s head into equal danger.

Yet tradition and custom would not allow Darrin to dodge the fight thus thrust upon him.  It was equally true, that, if he failed to ask Dan to act as his second, he would put a serious slight on his chum.

Dave hurried to Dalzell, who listened with more glee than might have been expected.

“Good enough, David, little giant!” approved Dalzell.  “When you meet Henley on the field just close in and pound off the whole of his superstructure!

“Dan, I’m afraid I’m letting you in for a tough risk.”

“You wouldn’t be my friend if you kept me out of it,” retorted Dalzell significantly.

Rollins proved only too glad to have the privilege of being the other second.  He, too, ran a risk of being dismissed, if caught at this fight; but in adventurous youth the love of risk is strong.

The time was set for Saturday evening at 8.30; the place as usual.

Darrin, as usual, was the first principal to show up.  He always liked to have plenty of time for stripping, and he also found it to his advantage to look the ground over.

Mr. Bailey, of the second class, was to serve as referee, and Mr. Clafflin, of the second class as time-keeper.  It was against custom to have any of the officials from the first class since member of that class was to be one of the principals.

“I wonder what sort of fellow Henley is with his fists,” mused Rollins, after they had reached the ground.

“Darrin will find out for you,” replied Dan.

“I’m not as afraid of seeing my principal thrashed as I might have been earlier in the year,” went on Rollins.

“Hm!  Any fellow that thrashes Dave is almost certain to carry away a few mementos himself!”

As soon as Henley and his seconds were seen to be approaching, Dave slipped off his blouse.

Within five minutes after that both men were ready and faced each other.  The word was given.

“Now, Mr. Touge,” warned Henley, “guard that striking face of yours!”

“Oh, I don’t do any striking with my face,” retorted Dave dryly.  “I do all my killing with my hands.”

“Stop that one,” urged Henley, feinting cleverly with his left, then following it up with a right hand crusher.

Dave stopped both blows neatly enough, then sidestepped and passed over a fist that grazed Mr. Henley’s face.

“I just wanted to find out where your face is,” mocked Darrin.

“Talk less and fight more, Mr. Touge!” warned the referee.

“Very good, sir,” Dave retorted.  “But it’s going to be hard on Mr. Henley.”

“Bah!” sneered Henley.  “Woof!”

The latter exclamation followed when Dave’s fist cut Henley’s lip a bit.  But that indignity stirred the first class man to swifter, keener efforts.  He failed to score heavily on the fourth class man, however; but, just before the call time for the first round Henley’s nose stopped a blow from Darrin’s fist, and first class blood began to flow.

“Mr. Touge is a hard fighter,” muttered the time-keeper to the referee, while the seconds attended their men.

“We’ve plenty of fellows at Annapolis who can punish Darrin,” replied Midshipman Bailey.

Time was called for the start-off of the second round.  The two principals were intent on their footwork around each other, when there came hail that froze their blood.

“Halt!  Remain as you are for inspection!”

It was the voice of Lieutenant Hall, one of the discipline officers, and the fighters and their friends had been caught!