Midshipman Jetson started. His face flushed. Then, for an instant, a sulky impulse seized him to reply that he did not feel up to form to-day. But the midshipman smothered that desire and started forward.
"Here, sir," he reported.
"Take right guard on second," directed Coach Havens.
"Very good, sir."
The game was resumed. Jetson, however, had a face full of sulkiness. As he joined the line-up his eyes rested on Dave Darrin.
"I wonder if Jetson means me any harm?" flashed through Dave's mind. In an instant, however, he dismissed the suspicion.
"Jetson is a midshipman, a gentleman and a man of honor," thought Darrin generously.
The whistle sounded, the ball was snapped back and passed, Darrin received it and dashed forward to carry it past the opponents.
In a twinkling there was a staggering crash. Dave was down with the ball, with men of two teams piled above him.
At the sound of the referee's whistle the mass disentangled itself. Dave and Jetson were at the bottom of the heap. Jetson was the last man up, but Dave still lay there.