However, there was
much to be done in the shops---hard, physical labor, that had
to be performed in dungaree clothing; toil of the kind that plastered
the hard-worked midshipmen with grime and soot. There were drills,
parades, cross-country marches. The day's work at the Naval Academy,
at any season of the year, is arranged so that hard mental work
is always followed by lively physical exertion, much of it in
the open air.
Dalzell, returning one afternoon from the library encountered
Midshipman Farley, who was looking unaccountably gloomy.
"What's the trouble, Farl---dyspepsia?" grinned Dan, linking one
arm through his friend's. "Own up!"
"Danny, I'm in the dumps," confessed Farley. "I hate to acknowledge
it, but I've been fearfully tempted, for the last three days, to send
in my resignation."
"What's her name?" grinningly demanded Dalzell, who had bravely
recovered from his own two meetings with Venus.
"It isn't a girl---bosh!" jeered Farley. "There's only one girl
in the world I'm interested in---and she's my kid sister."
"Then why this talk of resigning."
"Danny, I'm simply afraid that I'm not made of the stuff to make
a competent Naval officer. My markings are all right, but I know
that I don't know enough to take a sailboat out and bring it back."
"Oh, is that all?" cried Dalzell laughingly. "Then I know just
what you want."
"What?"
"Drop into our room and have a talk with Darry.
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