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Dave Darrin's Second Year at Annapolis, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 13. Dan Receives A Fearful Facer |
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_ CHAPTER XIII. DAN RECEIVES A FEARFUL FACER "Oh, you heap!" sighed Dan Dalzell dismally. He sat in his chair, in their new quarters in Bancroft Hall, United States Naval Academy, gazing in mock despair at the pile of new books that he had just drawn. These text-books contained the subjects in which a midshipman is required to qualify in his second academic year. "Been through the books for a first look?" called Dave from behind his own study table. "Some of 'em," admitted Dalzell. "I'm afraid to glance into the others." "I've looked in all of my books," continued Darrin, "and I've just come to a startling conclusion." "What?" "I'm inclined to believe that I have received a complete set of text-books for the first and second classes." "No such luck!" grunted Dan, getting up and going over to his chum. "Let me see if you got all the books I did." Before Dave could prevent it, Dan started a determined over-tossing of the book pile. As he did so, Dan suddenly uncovered a photograph from which a fair, sweet, laughing face gazed up at him. "Oh, I beg a million pardons, Dave, old boy!" cried Dalzell. "You needn't," came Dave's frank answer. "I'm proud of that treasure and of all it means to me." "And I'm glad for you, David, little giant." Their hands met in hearty clasp, and that was all that was said on that subject at the time. "But, seriously," Dan grumbled on, after a while, "I'm aghast at what an exacting government expects and demands that we shall know. Just look over the list--mechanical drawing and mechanical processes, analytical geometry, calculus, physics, chemistry, English literature, French and Spanish, integral calculus, spherical trigonometry, stereographic projection and United States Naval history! David, my boy, by the end of this year we'll know more than college professors do." "Aren't you getting a big head, Danny?" queried Darrin, looking up with a smile. "I am," assented Dalzell, "and I admit it. Why, man alive, one has to have a big head here. No small head would contain all that the Academic Board insists on crowding into it." By the time that the chums had attended the first section recitations on the following day, their despair was increased. "Davy, I don't see how we are ever going to make it, this year," Dalzell gasped, while they were making ready for supper formation. "We'll bilge this year without a doubt." "There's only one reason I see for hoping that we can get through the year with fair credit," murmured Darrin. "And what's that?" "Others have done it, before us, and many more are going to do it this year," replied Dave slowly, as he laid comb and brush away and drew on his uniform blouse. "I know men have gotten through the Naval Academy in years gone by," Dalzell agreed. "But, the first chance that I have, I'm going to look the matter up and see whether the middies of old had any such fearful grind as we have our noses held to." "Oh, we'll do it," declared Darrin confidently. "I shall, anyway--for I've got to!" As he spoke he was thinking of Belle Meade, and of her prospects in life as well as his own. As the days went by, however, Dave and Dan became more and more dull of spirits. The grind was a fearful one. A few very bright youngsters went along all right, but to most of the third classmen graduation began to look a thousand years away. The football squad was out now and training in deadly earnest. There were many big games to be played, but most of all the middies longed to tow West Point's Army eleven into the port of defeat. In their first year Dave and Dan had looked forward longingly to joining the gridiron squad. They had even practised somewhat. But now they realized that playing football in the second year at Annapolis must be, for them, merely a foolish dream. "I'm thankful enough if I can study day and night and keep myself up to 2.5," confessed Darrin, as he and Dan chatted over their gridiron longings. Two-and-five tenths is the lowest marking, on a scale of four, that will suffice to keep a midshipman in the Naval Academy. "I'm not going to reach 2.5 in some studies this month," groaned Dan. "I know that much by way of advance information. The fates be thanked that we're allowed until the semi-ans to pick up. But the question is, are we ever going to pick up? As I look through my books it seems to me that every succeeding lesson is twice as hard as the one before it." "Other men have gone through, every year." "And still other men have been dropped every year," Dalzell dolefully reminded him. "We're among those who are going to stay," Dave contended stubbornly. "Then I'm afraid we'll be among those who are dropped after Christmas and come back, next year, as bilgers," Dalzell groaned. "Now, drop that!" commanded Darrin, almost roughly. "Remember one thing, Daniel little lion slayer! My congressman and your senator won't appoint us again, if we fail now. No talk of that kind, remember. We've got to make our standing secure within the next few weeks." Before the month was over the football games began in earnest on the athletic field. Darrin and Dalzell, however, missed every game. They were too busy poring over their text-books. Fortunately for them their drills, parades and gym. work furnished them enough exercise. The end of October found Darrin at or above 2.5 in only three studies. Dan was above 2.5 in two studies--below that mark in all others. "It's a pity my father never taught me to swear," grumbled Dalzell, in the privacy of their room. "Stow that talk," ordered Darrin, "and shove off into the deeper waters of greater effort." "Greater effort?" demanded Dan, in a rage. "Why I study, now, every possible moment of the time allowed for such foolishness. And we can't run a light. Right after taps the electric light is turned off at the master switch." "We're wasting ninety seconds of precious time, now, in grumbling," uttered Dave, seating himself doggedly at his study table. "Got any money, Darry?" asked Dalzell suddenly. "Yes; are you broke?" "I am, and the next time I go into Annapolis I mean to buy some candles." "Don't try that, Danny. Running a light is dangerous, and doubly so with candles. The grease is bound to drip, and to be found in some little corner by one of the discipline officers. It would be no use to study if you are going to get frapped on the pap continuously." Immediately after supper both midshipmen forfeited their few minutes of recreation, going at once back to their study tables. There they remained, boning hard until the brief release sounded before taps was due. Almost at the sound of the release there came a knock at the door. Farley and his roommate, Page, came bounding in. "I've got to say something, or I'll go daffy," cried Farley, rubbing his eyes. "Fellows, did you ever hear of such downright abuse as the second year course of studies means?" "It is tough," agreed Dave. "But what can we do about it, except fight it out?" "Can you make head or tail out of calculus?" demanded Farley. "No," admitted Darrin, "but I hope to, one of these days." Just then Freeman, of the first class, poked his head in, after a soft knock. "What is this--a despair meeting?" he called cheerily. "Yes," groaned Page. "We're in a blue funk over the way recitations are going." "Oh, buck up, kiddies!" called Freeman cheerily, as he crossed the floor. "Youngsters always get in the doldrums at the beginning of the year." "You're a first classman. When you were in the third class did you have all the studies that we have now?" "Every one of them, sir," affirmed Midshipman Freeman gravely, though there was a twinkle in his eyes. "And did you come through the course easily?" asked Page. "Not easily," admitted the first classman. "There isn't anything at Annapolis that is easy, except the dancing. In fact, during the first two months very few of our class came along like anything at all. After that, we began to do better. By the time that semi-ans came around nearly all of us managed to pull through. But what seems to be the worst grind of all--the real blue paint?" "Calculus!" cried the four youngsters in unison. "Why, once you begin to see daylight in calculus it's just as easy as taking a nap," declared the first classman. "At present it seems more like suffering from delirium," sighed Dave. "What's the hard one for to-morrow?" asked Freeman. "Here it is, right here," continued Dave, opening his text-book. "Here's the very proposition." The others crowded about, nodding. "I remember that one," laughed Freeman lightly. "Our class named it 'sticky fly paper.'" "It was rightly named," grumbled Farley. "None of you four youngsters see through it?" demanded Midshipman Freeman. "Do you mean to claim, sir, that you ever did?" insisted Dan Dalzell. "Not only once, but now," grinned Mr. Freeman. "You haven't been looking at this torturing proposition from the right angle--that's all. Now, listen, while I read it." "Oh, we all know how it runs, Mr. Freeman," protested Page. "Nevertheless, listen, while I read it." As the first classman read through the proposition that was torturing them he threw an emphasis upon certain words that opened their eyes better as to the meaning. "Now, it works out this way," continued the first classman, bending over the disk and drawing paper and pencil toward him. "In the first place." Freeman seemed to these youngsters like a born demonstrator. Within five minutes he had made the "sticky fly paper" problem so plain to them all that they glanced from one to another in astonishment. "Why, it does seem easy," confessed Farley. "It sounds foolish, now," grinned Darrin. "I'm beginning to feel ashamed of myself." "Mr. Freeman," protested Page, "you've saved us from suicide, or some other gruesome fate." "Then I'll drop in once in a while again," promised the first classman. "But that will take time from your own studies," remonstrated Darrin generously. "Not in the least. I won't come around before release. By the time a fellow reaches the first class, if he's going to graduate anyway, he doesn't have to study as hard as a youngster does. The man who reaches the first class has had all the habits of true study ground into him." Darrin, Dalzell, Farley and Page were all in different sections in mathematics. When they recited, next day, it so happened that each was the man to have the "sticky fly paper" problem assigned to him by the instructor. Each of the quartette received a full "4" for the day's marking. "Did you have any assistance with this problem, Mr. Darrin?" asked Dave's instructor. "Yes, sir; a member of the first class tried to make it plain to me last night." "He appears to have succeeded," remarked the instructor dryly. There was, however, no discredit attached to having received proper assistance before coming into section. True to his promise Freeman dropped in every fourth or fifth evening, to see if he could be of any help to the four youngsters. Always he found that he could be. Even when Thanksgiving came, Dave Darrin did not go to Philadelphia, but remained at the Academy, devoting his time to study. Dan, in sheer desperation, took in the trip to Philadelphia. He hoped to meet Dick Prescott and Greg Holmes, but they did not come down from West Point. On the first day of December, Dan Dalzell's name was formally reported by the Academic Board in a report to the superintendent which recommended that Midshipman Dalzell be dropped from the rolls for "inaptitude in his studies." Poor Dan. It was a staggering blow. Yet it struck Dave Darrin just about as hard. _ |
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