So, for all of the "youngsters," or third class men, who had been conducting the evening's festivities, all the elements of trouble, and perhaps of dismissal, were at hand.
But Dave Darrin had been the first to hear the soft approach of footsteps, and somehow, he had guessed at the meaning of it all.
Just in the fraction of a second before the knock had sounded at the door Dave had made a fine handspring that brought him from his topsy-turvy attitude to a position of standing on his feet. And, at the same time, he held the washbowl in his hand without having spilled a drop of the water. Like a flash Dave few across the room, depositing the bowl where it belonged. With a towel he wiped his hair, then swiftly mopped his face dry. Hair brush and comb in hand, he turned, saving:
"Why, I suppose, gentlemen, Dalzell and myself were very fair athletes in the High School sense of the word. But it's a long jump from that to aspiring to the Navy football team. Of course we'll turn out for practice, if you wish, but—"
At this moment, Lieutenant Bender, the "duty-crazy" one, thrust the door open.
Here Dave, on his way to the mirror, hairbrush and comb in hand, halted as though for the first time aware of the accusing presence of Bender, midshipman in charge of the floor for the day.
"Uh-hum!" choked Midshipman Bender more confused, even, than he had expected the others to be.
"Looks like rather good material, doesn't he, Bender?" inquired
Mr. Trotter. "Green, of course, and yet—"
"I didn't come here to discuss Navy athletics," replied Midshipman
Bender.
"Oh, an official visit—is that it?" asked shipman Hayes, favoring the official visitor with a baby-stare. "As it is past graduation, and there are no evening study hours, there is no regulation against visiting in the rooms of other members of the brigade."