"It looks as though Darrin has queered me," muttered that midshipman
gloomily to himself. "I didn't think Darrin was quite as bad as that."

After the practice game had started, and Dave had put through the most
brilliant play that he had yet exhibited, the air rang with his name from
hundreds of throats.

"That's the way!" grumbled Jetson. "It's all Darrin now! These idiots
will forget that I was ever at Annapolis."

Jetson sulked about. After the rebuke he had received the day before from
the head coach, he did not dare to carry his sulk so far as to go and
un-tog without leave.

Towards the end of the first half of the practice game, a man on the
second team was hurt enough to be retired, and Joyce was called.

"They might have given me a chance," quivered Jetson sulkily. "I'm a lot
better player than the fool coach imagines. But, anyway, I suppose Darrin
has turned the coach and Hepson against me. I owe Darrin for that one!"

Five minutes later another player of the second eleven was retired with
an injured wrist.

"Howard!" called the coach briskly.

"Excused for to-day, sir," reported another player.

"Any one but me!" growled Jetson.

"Jetson!" sounded the head coach's heavy voice.

Midshipman Jetson started. His face flushed. Then, for an instant, a
sulky impulse seized him to reply that he did not feel up to form to-day.
But the midshipman smothered that desire and started forward.

"Here, sir," he reported.

"Take right guard on second," directed Coach Havens.

"Very good, sir."

The game was resumed. Jetson, however, had a face full of sulkiness. As
he joined the line-up his eyes rested on Dave Darrin.

"I wonder if Jetson means me any harm?" flashed through Dave's mind. In
an instant, however, he dismissed the suspicion.

"Jetson is a midshipman, a gentleman and a man of honor," thought Darrin
generously.

The whistle sounded, the ball was snapped back and passed, Darrin
received it and dashed forward to carry it past the opponents.

In a twinkling there was a staggering crash. Dave was down with the ball,
with men of two teams piled above him.

At the sound of the referee's whistle the mass disentangled itself. Dave
and Jetson were at the bottom of the heap. Jetson was the last man up,
but Dave still lay there.

"Surgeon here?" called the coach's steady voice, devoid of excitement.
But there was anxiety enough when it was seen that Midshipman Darrin
still lay face downward.