"Ah, you admit it!" snapped Midshipman Jetson, first turning white, after which his face showed a deep crimson of humiliation. "You've already done the dirty work."

"Fellow, stop this talk!" commanded Hepson, almost at a white heat of resentment, "Among midshipmen and gentlemen there can be no thought of what you term 'dirty work.' The fact that you won't play with us is due to your uncontrollable temper. A fellow who can't control his nerves and temper isn't fitted to play football--a game that requires cool judgment at every moment of the game."

"Then, while you're telling me what to stop, you just stop addressing me as 'fellow,'" cried Jetson, his lip quivering with rage.

"I'll admit that was hasty on my part," agreed Midshipman Hepson, "but it seemed necessary to use some word to bring you to your senses. And now, this fight, which would get you both into serious trouble if a discipline officer came upon the scene, must cease."

"I'm afraid it can't," broke in Midshipman Dalzell with quiet dignity.

"At least, I won't agree to stopping until Mr. Jetson admits himself satisfied. It was he who started the fight, and only his word can close it. But we don't want you other fellows pulled into this trouble as spectators, so we'll wait until you all withdraw."

"If you're determined to fight," rejoined Hepson, who was the only first cla.s.sman present, "then we don't want to stop the fight. We'll stay and see it pulled off fairly. But, Dalzell, do you really want to fight?"

"I didn't want to," Dan answered. "But, now that Mr. Jetson has started it, it must go on until he's satisfied. Up with your hands, sir, and when you start in, I'll answer you."

The visitors skipped back, in order to leave the combatants plenty of room for footwork. Since Jetson had heard definite announcement of the fact that he could not hope to be called to the Navy eleven, his inward flame of pa.s.sion had burned up high. He was now ready to fight with all the force that there was in him.

In the first few seconds his a.s.sault was so resolute that Dalzell was forced to give ground. As he slowly retreated and shifted, Jetson drove in more impetuously than ever.

Midshipman Dan found himself at last in a position of advantage.

"Now, hammer him, Danny boy!" advised; Farley, breathing deeply.

"Silence among the spectators," warned Hepson in a low, stern voice.

"Absolutely fair play, gentlemen, to both contestants!"

Again the showering exchange of blows. Jetson, after his late rapid expenditure of force and nerve-energy, was now just the least bit confused. Dan landed on one ear, and then against his enemy's chin. Both were hard, dazing blows, though neither left a mark.

Then an uppercut and Dalzell landed on Jetson's jugular. With, a gasp the fellow went down to the floor.

"One, two, three, four--" Hepson began counting.

"Don't bother with the count," begged Dalzell "I'll give him all the time he wants to get to his feet."

Rap-tap-tap-tap! came a banging summons on the door, followed by Midshipman Joyce's voice demanding:

"Are you in, Danny boy?"

Swift as a flash Hepson and Farley leaped forward, fairly s.n.a.t.c.hing Jetson, who was still half dazed, to his feet.

In the same instant Page called out cheerily:

"Come in under full steam, whatever craft is outside!"

"Brace up? Jetson! Don't look silly or dazed,", warned Hepson, in a stern whisper. "That rap was the signal of the approach of the O.C."

Farley was industriously brushing the signs of dust from Jetson's uniform.

"I tell you, fellows," boomed Hepson's tranquil, earnest voice, "we've got to hustle every minute of practice time. Nothing else will give us a chance to win."

"We haven't even a chance if Darry isn't soon back on the gridiron,"

argued Farley.

"Oh, he'll be all right soon," broke in Dan Dalzell eagerly.

Joyce had already stepped into the room, leaving the door open. Now, as though by instinct, the midshipmen seemed aware that the O.C., who to-day happened to be Lieutenant Cotton, U.S.N., was standing in front of the doorway gazing in.

Instantly the middies came to the position of attention, looking straight ahead of them.

"Good evening, gentlemen," greeted the O.C. "Is anything unusual going on?"

"We have been discussing the football situation, sir," announced Midshipman Hepson quite truthfully.

Had Hepson been asked if there had recently been a fight in progress he would have answered truthfully, but he did not feel called upon to volunteer damaging information.

"I thought I heard sounds as of some disturbance," remarked the O.C., looking at the young men rather sharply. "That is to say, I was under the impression that there had been some unusual agility in operation. I heard something that sounded like scuffling."

"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Hepson; "I think it very likely. The men on this deck, sir, can't think of anything in these days but line-ups and scrimmage tactics."

"It occurred to me," went on the O.C., "that there was some sound of scuffling in this room."

"There was, sir," admitted Midshipman Hepson candidly. "There was a species of scrimmage."

"Was it in connection with football?" inquired Lieutenant Cotton.

"Yes, sir,"--which answer, again, was wholly truthful.

"Ah, I thought I heard something like a scrimmage in the room," a.s.sented Lieutenant Cotton. "Yet remember, gentlemen, that quarters is not the place for football practice."

"Very good, sir; thank you, sir," replied the unmovable Hepson.

"And remember that it is now very close to the time for study call,"

continued the O.C.

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir. We are just parting to our various quarters, sir."

"Good evening, gentlemen."

"Good evening, sir."

Lieutenant Cotton pa.s.sed on down the corridor, and the midshipmen eased themselves from the rigid position of attention.

"That was a narrow squeak," grunted Hepson. "Now, Jetson, get out ahead."

"I'll renew this argument at another time," retorted Jetson slowly, as he crossed the floor.

"You don't need to, sir," Midshipman Hepson advised him. "Every gentleman here will agree with me that Mr. Dalzell had the best of the affair right up to the end. Nor is Mr. Dalzell under any obligation whatever to afford you another meeting on the score of to-night's disagreement."

"We'll see about that," snapped Jetson, as he pa.s.sed through the doorway.