Now the two midshipmen lay where they had fallen, Jetson lying somewhat across Dave's motionless body.
"They're killed!" yelled the attendant Jim hoarsely.
"We'll look 'em over first, before we give up," retorted the other attendant, stooping and gently rolling Jetson over on his back.
"Sure they're killed, Bob," protested Jim huskily. "They met head on.
You'll find that both middies have their skulls broken."
"Bring two pails of water, you chump," ordered Bob. "I tell you, we won't raise a row until we've done the best we can for 'em."
[Illustration: Straight Down Shot Jetson.]
The water was brought. Under liberal dashes of it over his face and neck
Jetson soon opened his eyes.
"I—I had a bad fall, didn't I?" he asked of the man nearest him.
"You'd have broken your neck, sir, if Mr. Darrin hadn't jumped forward and broken the force of your fall."
"I'd rather any other man had saved me," muttered the sullen one, slowly aiding himself to sit up. "How did Mr. Darrin do it?"