“Oh, is that all?” cried Dalzell laughingly.  “Then I know just what you want.”

“What?”

“Drop into our room and have a talk with Darry.  Dave knows just how to comfort and cheer a fellow who has that glum bug in his head of cabbage.  Come right along!”

Dan almost forced Farley to the door of the room, opened it and shoved the modest midshipman inside.

“Darry,” Dan called joyously, “here’s a case for your best talents.  Farley has a pet bee in his bonnet that he isn’t fit to be a Naval officer.  He doesn’t know enough.  So he’s going to resign.  I’ve told him you’ll know just how to handle his case.  Go after him, now!”

Midshipman Dalzell pulled the door shut, chuckling softly to himself, and marched back to the library.  It was just before the call for supper formation when Dan returned from “boning” in the library.

“Did you brace Farl up, Davy?” demanded Dan.

“You grinning idiot!” laughed Darrin.  “What on earth made you bring him to me?”

“Because I thought you needed each other.”

“Well, perhaps we did,” laughed Midshipman Darrin.  “At any rate I’ve been hammering at Farl all the time that he wasn’t hammering at me.  I certainly feel better, and I hope that he does.”

“You both needed the same thing,” declared Dan, grinning even more broadly as he picked up his hair brushes.

“What did we need?”

“You’ve both been studying so hard that your brain cells are clogged.”

“But what did Farley and I both need?” insisted Midshipman Darrin.

“Mental exercise—–­brain-sparring,” rejoined Dalzell.  “You both needed something that could take you out of the horrible daily grooves that you’ve been sailing in lately.  You both needed something to stir you up—–­and I hope you gave each other all the excitement you could.”

In the way of a stirring-up something was about to happen that was going to stir up the whole first class—–­if not the entire brigade.

Nor was Dave Darrin to escape being one of the central figures in the excitement.

Here is the way in which the whole big buzzing-match got its start and went on to a lively finish.

CHAPTER XVII

MR. CLAIRY DEALS IN OUTRAGES

“Mr. Darrin!”

With that hail proceeded sharply from the lips of a first classman, who on this evening happened to be the midshipman in charge of the floor.

Clairy sat at his desk in the corridor, his eyes on a novel until Dave happened along.  As he gave the sharp hail Mr. Clairy thrust his novel under a little pile of text-books.

“Well, sir?” inquired Dave, halting.  “Mr. Darrin, what do you mean by coming down the corridor with both shoes unlaced.”

“They are not unlaced,” retorted Dave, staring in amazement at Midshipman Clairy.

“They are not now—–­true.”