"I feel that I'd like to fight the fellow myself!" declared Dan Dalzell hotly.

"Oh, no, you don't; for Treadwell apologized to-night, and we have shaken hands. We're all comrades, you know, Danny boy."

Unknown to any of the parties to the fight, there had been spectators of the spirited double battle.

Two men, a sailor and a marine, noting groups of midshipmen going toward the historic battle ground of midshipmen, had hidden themselves near-by in order "to see the fun."

These two enlisted men of the Navy had been spectators and auditors of all that had taken place.

Not until the last midshipman had left the ground did the sailor and marine emerge from their hiding place.

"Well, of all the game fights!" muttered the marine.

"Me? I'm hoping that some day I fight under that gallant middy," cried the sailor.

"Who is this Mr. Darrin?" asked the marine, as the pair strolled away.

"He's a youngster--third cla.s.sman. But he's one of the chaps who, on the cruise, last summer, went over into a gale after another middy--Darrin and his chum did it."

"There must be fine stuff in Mr. Darrin," murmured the marine.

"Couldn't you see that much just now?" demanded the sailor, who took the remark as almost a personal affront, "My hat's off to Mr. Darrin. He's one of our future admirals. If I round out my days in the service it will be the height of my ambition to have him for my admiral. And a mighty sea-going officer he'll be, at that!"

In their enthusiasm over the spectacle they had seen, the sailor and the marine talked rather too much.

They were still talking over the battle as they strolled slowly past one of the great, darkened buildings.

In the shadow of this building, not far away, stood an officer whom neither of the enlisted men of the Navy saw; else they would have saluted him.

That officer, Lieutenant Willow, U.S. Navy, listened with a good deal of interest.

Mr. Willow was one of those officers who are known as duty-mad. He gathered that there had been a fight, so he deemed it his duty to report the fact at once to the discipline officer in charge over at Bancroft Hall.

Regretting the necessity, yet full of the idea of doing his duty, Lieutenant Willow wended his way promptly towards the office of the officer in charge.

CHAPTER XIX

THE OFFICER IN CHARGE IS SHOCKED

Through the main entrance of Bancroft Hall, into the stately corridor, Lieutenant Willow picked his way.

He looked solemn--unusually so, even for Lieutenant Willow, U.S.N. He had the air of a man who hates to do his duty, but who is convinced that the heavens would fall if he didn't.

To his left he turned, acknowledging smartly the crisp salute given him by the midshipman a.s.sistant officer of the day.

Into the outer office of the officer in charge stepped Mr. Willow, and thence on into the smaller room where Lieutenant-Commander Stearns sat reading.

"Oh, good evening, Willow," hailed Lieut. Stearns heartily.

"Good evening, Stearns," was the almost moody reply.

"Sit down and let's have a chat. I'm glad to see you," urged Lieutenant-Commander Stearns.

Mr. Stearns, he of the round, jovial face, gazed at his junior with twinkling eyes.

"Willow," he muttered, "I'm half inclined to believe that you've come to me to make an official report."

"I guess I have," nodded Lieutenant Willow.

"And against some unfortunate midshipman, at that!"

"Against two, at least," sighed Mr. Willow, "and there were others involved in the affair."

"It must be something fearful," said Mr. Stearns, who knew the junior officer's inclination to be duty-mad. "But, see here, if you make an official report you'll force me to take action, even though it's something that I'd secretly slap a midshipman on the shoulder for doing.

No--don't begin to talk yet, Willow. Try a cigar and then tell me, personally, what's worrying you. Then perhaps it won't be altogether needful to make an official report."

"I never was able to take you--er--somewhat jovial views of an officer's duty, Stearns," sighed Lieutenant Willow.

Nevertheless, he selected a cigar, bit off the end, lighted it and took a few whiffs, Lieutenant-Commander Stearns all the while regarding his comrade in arms with twinkling eyes.

"Now, fire ahead, Willow," urged the officer in charge, "but please don't make your communication an official one--not at first. Fire ahead, now, Willow."

"Well--er--just between ourselves," continued Lieutenant Willow slowly, "there has been a fight to-night between two midshipmen."

"No!"

Lieutenant-Commander Stearns struck his fist rather heavily against the desk.

"A fight--a real fight--with fists?" continued the officer in charge, in a tone of mock incredulity. "No, no, no, Willow, you don't mean it--you can't mean it!"

"Yes, I do," rejoined the junior officer rather stiffly.

"Oh, dear, what is the service coming to?" gasped Stearns ironically.

"Why, Willow, we never heard of such things when we were midshipmen here. Now, did we?"

"I'm afraid we did--sometimes," admitted the junior officer. "But duty is duty, you know, my dear Stearns. And this was an unusual fight, too.

The man who was whipped insisted on another fight right then and there, and--he won the second fight."

"Bully!" chuckled the officer in charge. "Whew, but I wish I had been there!"

"Stearns, you surely don't mean that?" gasped duty-mad Mr. Willow.