"I don't mean to be, sir," replied Dan quite meekly. "What I meant to convey, sir, is that I don't care anything about winning fights. The decision, sir, is of very little importance to me.

I don't fight because I like it, but merely because I need the exercise. A fight about once a week will be very much to my liking, sir."

"You'll get it, undoubtedly," replied Midshipman Ferris dryly.

"Whee, won't it be great!" chuckled Dan, in an undertone, as he stepped over to his seconds. "Give me that towel, Dave. I can rub myself off."

While Dan was dressing, and Quimby was doing the same, one of the seconds of the youngster cla.s.s came over, accompanied by the timekeeper.

"Mister, you really do fight as though you enjoyed it," remarked the latter.

"But I don't," denied Dan. "I'm willing to do it, though, to keep myself in condition. Say once a week, except in really hot weather. A little game like this tones up the liver so that I can almost feel it dancing inside of me."

As he spoke, Dalzell clapped both hands to his lower left side and jumped up and down.

"You heathen, your liver isn't there," laughed the time-keeper.

"Isn't it?" demanded Dan. "Now, I'm ready to maintain, at all times, that I know more about my liver and its hanging-out place than anyone else possibly can."

There was a note of half challenge in this, but the time-keeper merely laughed and turned away. Members of the second cla.s.s usually feel too grave and dignified to "take it out of" plebes. That work is left to the "youngsters" of the third cla.s.s.

A little later Mr. Quimby presented himself for medical attendance.

His face certainly showed signs of the need of tender ministration.

"Dan, why in the world are you so fresh?" remonstrated Dave, when the two chums were back in their room. "You talk as though you wanted to fight every man in the upper cla.s.ses. You'll get your wish, if you don't look out."

"Old fellow," replied Dalzell quizzically, "I expect to get into two or three more fights. I don't mean to be touge, but I do intend to let it be seen that I look upon it as a lark to be called out. Then, if I win the next two or three fights also, I won't be bothered any after that. This is my own scheme for joining the peace society before long."

Nor is it wholly doubtful that Dan's was the best plan, in the long run, for a peaceful life among a lot of spirited young men.

CHAPTER XI

MIDSHIPMAN HENKEL DOES SOME THINKING

"Busy" asked Midshipman Henkel, of the fourth cla.s.s, stepping into the room which Farley and Page shared.

The release bell had just sounded, giving all of the young men a brief interval of freedom before taps.

"Not especially," laughed Farley, as he finished stacking his books and papers neatly.

It was about a week after the night of Dan's fight with Midshipman Quimby.

"Let me get a good look at your face, Farley, under the light,"

continued Henkel. "Why, it looks almost natural again. My, but it was a rough pounding that fellow, Darrin, gave it!"

"Yes," nodded Farley, flushing.

"Let me see; isn't it about time that you squared matters up with Darrin?" went on Midshipman Henkel.

"How? What do you mean?" demanded Farley, while Page, too, looked on with interest.

"Well, first of all, Darrin gets the whole bunch of us ragged by the watchman. The when you object, he pounds your face at his own sweet will."

"What are you trying to do?" laughed Farley. "Are you trying to fan up the embers of my wrath against Darrin?"

"Such embers shouldn't need much fanning," retorted Mr. Henkel coolly.

"Surely, you are not going to let the dead dog lie?"

"Darrin and I fought the matter out, and he had the good fortune to win the appeal to force," replied Plebe Farley stiffly. "I don't a.s.sociate with him now, and don't expect to, later on, if we both graduate into the Navy."

"That satisfies your notions of honor, does it, with regard to a man who not only injured you, but pounded your face to a fearful pulp?"

Henkel's tone as he put the question, was one of bitter irony.

"Do you know," demanded Farley, rising, his face now flushing painfully, "I don't wholly like your tone."

"Forget it, then," begged Henkel. "I don't mean to be offensive to you, Farley. I haven't the least thought in the world like that. But I take this whole Darrin business so bitterly to heart that I suppose I am unable to comprehend how you can be so meek about it."

"Meek?" cried Farley. "What do you mean by that word?"

"Well, see here," went on Henkel coaxingly, "are we men of spirit, or are we not? We fellows devise a little outing in the town of Annapolis. It's harmless enough, though it happens to be against the rules in the little blue book. We are indiscreet enough to let Darrin in on the trick, and he pipes the whole lay off to some one. Result--we are 'ragged' and fifty 'dems.' apiece.

When you accuse Darrin of his mean work he gives you the lie.

True, you show spirit enough to fight him for it, but the fight turns out to be simply more amus.e.m.e.nt for him. Now, I've been thinking over this thing and I can't rest until the mean work is squared. But I find you, who suffered further indignities under Darrin's fists, quite content to let the matter rest. That's why I am astonished, and why I say so frankly."

Having delivered this harangue with an air of patient justice, Henkel seated himself with one leg thrown over the edge of the study table, waiting to hear what Farley could say in reply.

"Well, what do you plan to do further in the matter?" insisted Midshipman Farley.

"To get square with Darrin!"

"How?"

"Well, now see here, Farley, and you, too, Page, what has happened?

At first we had the cla.s.s pretty sore against Darrin for getting our crowd ragged. Since the fight, however, in which you were pummeled like--"

"Never mind my fate in the fight," interposed Farley. "It was a fair fight."

"Well, ever since the fight," resumed Henkel, "Darrin has been climbing up again in cla.s.s favor. Most of the b.o.o.bies in the fourth cla.s.s seem to feel that, just because Darrin hammered you so, the beating you received proves Darrin's innocence of a mean act."

"I can't help what the cla.s.s concludes," retorted Farley stiffly.

"Page, you have more spirit than that, haven't you?" demanded Henkel, wheeling upon Midshipman Farley's roommate.

"I hope I have spirit enough," replied Page, bridling slightly, "but I am aware of one big lack."

"What is that?"