There was no leave, however, for the new midshipmen.

In lieu of leave, through the month of September, the new fourth class men spent the time, each week-day, from ten o’clock until noon, at the “Dago Department,” as the Department of Modern Languages is termed.

Here they made their start in French.

“When Trotter comes back,” muttered Dan, “if he asks me whether I can talk French, I’ll tell him that I’ve tried, and now I know I can’t.”

It was the last night before the upper classmen were due back from their leave.

Dave and Dan were in their room, poring hard over French, when a light tap sounded on the door.

Right on top of the tap Midshipman Farley, fourth class, entered on tiptoe, closing the door behind him.

This accomplished, Farley dropped his air of stealth, strolling over to the study desk.

“There’s a nice little place in town—­you know, Purdy’s,” began Farley significantly.

“I’ve heard of it as an eating place,” responded Darrin.

“It’s more than that,” returned Farley, smacking his lips.  “It’s an ideal place for a banquet.”

“I accept your word for it,” smiled Dave.

“I don’t ask you to, Darrin,” grinned Farley.  “Like any honest man I’m prepared to prove all I say.  Purdy has received—­by underground telegraph—­orders to prepare a swell feast for eight.  It’s to be ready at eleven tonight.  We had the eight all made up, but two fellows have flunked cold.  We’re to French it over the wall tonight, leaving here a few minutes after taps.  Are you on?”

Farley’s enthusiastic look fell upon the face of Dalzell.

“I’m on!” nodded Dan

“No; you’re not” broke in Dave quietly.

“I’m afraid I must disagree with you, little David,” murmured Dan.

“Oysters, clams, fish—­watermelon!” tempted Midshipman Farley.

“Um-yum!” grunted Dan, his eyes rolling.

“Then you’re with us, Dalzell?” insisted Farley.

“Well, rather—­”

“—­not!” interjected Dave Darrin with emphasis.

“Now, what are you butting in for, you greasy greaser?” demanded Farley, giving Dave a contemptuous glance.  “Maybe you won’t join us, and maybe we’d just as soon not have as greasy a midshipman as you at the festive board, but Dalzell isn’t tied to your apron strings, are you, Dalzell?”

“No; he’s not,” replied Darrin, speaking for his chum.  “Dalzell will speak for himself, if he insists.  But he and I have been chums these many years, and we’ve often given each other good advice in trying or tempting times.  Dalzell will go with you, if he cares to, for he already knows all that I have to say on the subject.”

“You’ve had your nose stuck down deep in the grease-pot ever since you struck Annapolis!” cried Farley angrily.  “I hope you bilge, Darrin; with all my heart I hope you bilge soon.  We don’t need a mollycoddle like you here in the Naval Academy!”