An ambulance had been signaled for, and was waiting at the dock.

"I don't want to go to hospital, sir," Dave objected weakly.

"You'll come with me, Mr. Darrin," responded the Naval surgeon, without argument. "Of course we can discharge you at any time we find you strong enough for duty."

So Dave was taken to hospital, stripped, rubbed down, put to bed and dosed with hot drinks.

Midshipman Page was put on the cot next to Dave's. Now the surgeons discovered the injury that had been done Page's head by the falling gaff.

Some four hours later Commander Jephson, commandant of midshipmen, came through the hospital, accompanied by Lieutenant Edgecombe, who had been the sailing instructor of the afternoon.

"Good evening, Mr. Darrin," was the commandant's very cordial greeting.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening, Mr. Darrin," came from Lieutenant Edgecombe, which greeting Dave also acknowledged.

"The surgeon says, Mr. Darrin, that you a fit to do some talking," continued the commandant.