Dave Darrin's Third Year at Annapolis Part 6

"Then they can't have overlooked the need of physicians," ventured Dan, "especially as Laura is the daughter of one."

As the boat drew nearer to the float the noise of cheers was borne to the ears of the mids.h.i.+pmen.

"More of the hero racket," uttered Dan disgustedly.

"I hope this won't get into the newspapers," grunted Darrin in a tone of something like real alarm. "Say, the fellows of the brigade wouldn't do a thing but make us mount chairs and read all the fulsome gush about this rescue."

"And then, after we'd finished a straight reading," groaned Dan, "we'd have to sing it next, to the tune of 'Columbia, the Pride of the Ocean.'"

"'Gem of the Ocean,' Dan," Darrin corrected.

Though in the middle of the river the sailboat had many a close shave from capsizing in the strong puffs of wind, especially with the load that the little craft carried, yet Dan Dalzell, at the tiller, brought the boat at last in under the lee side of the float, and there a score of pairs of willing hands reached out with offers of help.

Dr. Bentley was in the crowd, as were two other Gridley physicians. There were also two trained nurses, and one of the druggists had brought along a big emergency box of drugs and supplies. Between them the telephone and the automobile can accomplish a lot in these modern times.

Laura and Belle, though they had summoned the aid, now kept tactfully in the background.

The two apparently drowned girls were lifted from the boat in haste and borne to a room that had been made ready on the second floor of the clubhouse. Ab Canty was carried to another room, and Tom Foss, who nearly shook to pieces when lifted from the water, was helped after his friend.

"You two young mids.h.i.+pmen will have to come inside and get some of our attention," called Dr. Bentley in an authoritative voice.

"I think not, thank you, doctor," replied Dave Darrin. "The most that we want is some place where we can strip and rub down, while waiting for dry clothing."

"I know just the room, and I'll take you there," urged Len Spencer, reporter for the "Morning Blade." Len was an old friend of d.i.c.k Prescott, who, in his High School days before going to West Point, had worked as an amateur s.p.a.ce reporter for the "Blade."

Len led the way gladly. While Dan and Dave stripped and rubbed down, Len got out of them the whole account of what they had been through.

Reporter Spencer had already talked with Belle and Laura. A man in an auto had already started for the homes of the two mids.h.i.+pmen, to obtain changes of clothing for them.

"Now, Len," begged Dave, "don't spread on a lot of taffy. Don't smother us under the hero racket."

"But it was an heroic thing," Len argued. "And, besides, it was done with great skill, of the kind that you've gained at the Naval Academy. It makes a corking, elegant story about two of our brightest Gridley lads."

"But, Len, do you realize that the fellows at the Naval Academy will make us read aloud to them this yarn you're proposing to write about us--that is, if they happen to hear about it?"

"And then, after we've read the yarn straight, they'll make us sing it all to some blamed old tune or another," groaned Dalzell.

"Well, I can't help it," sighed good-natured Len. "It's a story we've got to have to-morrow morning. I'd lose my position if I didn't write a good story about this afternoon's work. And, now that I've got a wife and baby to feed, I can't afford to waste any good time in job-hunting."

"Then I hope none of the other fellows at the Naval Academy hear about the 'Blade's' story," gulped Dan, as he wrapped himself in a blanket while waiting for his dry clothes.

"Hear about it?" retorted Len. "They'll hear about it, all right. The a.s.sociated Press man at Gridley will be sure to send something about it to the papers all over the country."

"I guess we've got to take our medicine, Danny," hinted Mids.h.i.+pman Dave Darrin.

In the meantime Tom Foss was soon comfortable, wrapped up in blankets and with plenty of coffee inside him. Nor did it take long to bring Ab Canty around. In three quarters of an hour Susie Danes opened her eyes.

As for Ella Wright, the physicians and nurses worked over her long and earnestly, and were on the point of giving her up when at last a flutter of her eyelids was seen.

By night time all of the young people were quite out of danger, but the parents of the Wright and Danes families were highly indignant over the recklessness of Tom Foss in taking the girls out on the river in such a heavy wind.

Three days later even the launch was saved; that is, it was raised and was towed to a boat-builder for overhauling and repairs.

CHAPTER III

THE TROUBLE-MAKING FOP

The story that Len Spencer wrote for the "Blade" was "worse" than the mids.h.i.+pmen had expected. That is, the newspaper made them out to be heroes of some rare, solid-gold type. To add to the trouble, the story, in a condensed form, was printed broadcast by the dailies all over the country.

"We can't hope to keep it quiet, Danny boy," groaned Dave when the two chums met the next morning.

"No," sighed Dan. "The most we can hope for is to be allowed to live it down."

"And I'm much afraid that we've got to stand for a lot more of gush this afternoon," continued Darrin.

"At the reception? Oh, yes! I wish we could desert the town and get away somewhere to hide."

The affair for the afternoon was a reception for which Laura Bentley had sent out hurried invitations to a lot of the former High School boys and girls of Gridley. Though Laura was more especially interested in the U.

S. Military Academy at West Point--because d.i.c.k Prescott was there--yet she did not show undue partiality to the Army.

"I'm sorry Laura didn't wait a fortnight," Dan continued.

"Oh, well, she doesn't understand," Dave urged.

"You're going, of course?"

"I surely am. I wouldn't slight that splendid girl. She's a whole lot to me, Danny boy, both for her own sake and d.i.c.k Prescott's."

Even the short stroll, however, between Belle Meade's home and Laura's, was bound to bring Dave Darrin again into the unwished-for limelight.

He and Belle had turned into Main Street together, and were walking along, chatting, when Belle's eyes flashed suddenly.

"There's that horrid wretch Ardmore," she murmured in an undertone.

"Don't believe I know him," Darrin returned.

"Then you haven't been deprived of much," replied Belle, in a tone that was very nearly bitter. "I've been meaning to tell you about him, Dave, but other matters have been cropping up and it has escaped me until now."

"What's wrong with Ardmore?" asked Dave.

"He's posing as an admirer of mine."

"I can't quarrel with his taste," smiled Darrin.

"But he annoys me."