It hurt! It always hurts—either the cadets or the midshipmen—to lose the Army-Navy game.
Once back at quarters in Bancroft Hall, it seemed to many of the midshipmen as though it would have been a relief to have to go to study tables to work. Yet, since no work was actually required on this night, none was done.
Midshipmen wandered about in their own rooms and visited. The more they realized the defeat, the bluer they became. From some rooms came sounds of laughter, but it was hollow.
Farley got out a banjo, breaking into a lively darky reel. Yet, somehow, the sound was mournful.
"Please stop that dirge and play something cheerful!" begged the voice of a passing midshipman.
"Put the lyre away, Farl," advised Page. "Nothing sounds happy to-night."
"We love to sing and dance. We're happy all the day—ha, ha!" wailed Dan Dalzell. He wasn't so very blue himself, but he was trying to keep in sympathy with the general tone of feeling.
"Well, Hep, you made as good a showing, after all, as could be expected with a dub team," spoke Joyce consolingly, when they met in a corridor.
"It wasn't a dub team," retorted Hepson dismally. "The eleven was all right. The only trouble lay in having a dub for a captain."
It was a relief to hundreds that night when taps sounded at last, and the master switch turned off the lights in midshipmen quarters. At least the young men were healthy and did not waste hours in wooing sleep and forgetfulness.