he Naval surgeon.
"Not because you're going to be weak, but because we've got to have you
under our eyes all the time if your face is to heal without a bad scar."

Midshipman Darrin brought his hand up in salute to the surgeon, and again
to Lieutenant-Commander Havens.

"Darrin laid up for a few days!" growled Captain Hepson, of the Navy
team, just after Dave had started. "Now, when every day's work counts!"
Then wheeling suddenly:

"How did Darrin come to get cut in that fashion, anyway! Mr. Jetson, do
you know anything about it?"

"What do you mean, sir?" demanded Jetson, bridling. "Do you insinuate
that I tried to put a scar on Mr. Darrin's face?"

"I asked you what you knew about the accident--if it were an accident?"
Hepson pursued coldly.

"Your 'if,' sir, is insulting!"

Then there came to the spot a presence that could not be treated with
anger. Lieutenant-Commander Havens was determined to know the truth.

"Mr. Jetson, had you anything in your possession, or did you wear
anything, that could cut Mr. Damn's face like that?" demanded the
head coach.

"Nothing, sir, unless the sole of one of my shoes was responsible,"
returned Jetson, barely concealing his anger under a mask of respect to
an officer of the Navy.

"Let me see your shoes; sit down on the ground first, Mr. Jetson."

The midshipman obeyed, though with no very good grace, and held up his
right shoe for the inspection of the head coach.

"Now the other shoe, Mr. Jetson. Hm! Yes; along the inner sole of
this shoe there are signs of what looks very much like blood. See
here, Mr. Hepson."

"Yes, sir; most certainly this is a streak of blood rubbed into the
leather along this rather sharp edge of the sole."

"May I suggest, Mr. Havens," hinted Jetson, "that something else may
have scratched Mr. Darrin's face, and that the blood trickled to my
shoe? I was under Mr. Darrin, somewhat, sir, in the scrimmage when the
bunch went down."

There was really nothing that could be proved, in any case, so the head
coach could only say very quietly:

"Let the practice go on, Mr. Hepson. Put Mr. Wardell temporarily in Mr.
Darrin's place on the line."

There was one in the group who had not said a word so far. But he had
been looking on, his keen eyes studying Jetson's face. That looker-on was
Midshipman Dan Dalzell, who, as the reader knows, sometimes displayed a
good deal of temper.

"Jetson," muttered Dan, as the other midshipman came over by him