There was a great lump, instantly, in Dan's throat. It was a reprieve, a chance for official life—but that was all.
"I'll make good—I'll make good!" he told himself, with a violent gulp.
The orders were ringing out sharply now. The midshipmen were being marched in to dinner.
Hardly a word did Dalzell speak as he ate. As for Dave Darrin, he was too happy over his chum's respite to want to talk.
Yet, when they strolled together in the open air during the brief recreation period following the meal, Dalzell suddenly asked:
"Dave when do you fight with Treadwell?"
"To-night, I hope," replied Darrin.
"Oh, then I must get busy!"
"Why?"
"Why, I'm to represent you, Darry. Who are Treadwell's—"