Rap-tap! came on the door. "I'll wager that's Farley," whispered Darrin. "Or Page"--from Dan. "Come in," called Dave. The door opened, to let in Farley, with Page crowding on his heels. Dave and Dan both hastened forward to clasp hands with these tried chums of other days. "Seen Hepson?" asked Dan. "Yes," nodded Farley. "He told us he had gobbled you. Hepson just left us." "You're going to be on the eleven!" pressed Dan. "If we can make it," nodded Farley slowly. "I'd like to play, too, but I'm hoping that the Navy can hit on some one better than myself." "Cold feet!" grinned Dan. "Not exactly," Farley answered, with a slight flush. "But it's a big thing to play on the Navy's fighting eleven. It seems almost too big a responsibility for any but a demi-god." "Demi-gods don't play football," jeered Dan. "They're nothing but idols, anyway, and they're two thousand years out of date. What we want on the Navy line is real human flesh and blood." "There'll be blood on the doorstep of the moon if the Army carries things away from us this year," predicted Page mournfully. "Well, all we can do is our best," declared Dave. "We'll do that, too, and do it mightily. Wow! What's that?" Ta-ra-ra-ta-ra-ta! sounded musically in the corridors. "Supper formation, by Jove!" gasped Dan. Farley and Page fled without a word. Soon the "decks" of Bancroft Hall swarmed with young life. Then, outside, to seaward, the brigade fell in by companies. Military commands rang out briskly, roll was called, reports made and the brigade marched in to supper. What a joyous, noisy affair it was. Some license in the way of boisterousness was allowed this evening, and most of the young men took full advantage of the fact. Swat! A slice of bread, soaked in a glass of water and kneaded into a soppy ball, struck Dalzell full in the back of the neck, plastering his collar and sending a sticky mess down his spine. "I'll fight the man who did that," promised Midshipman Dan, wheeling around. Then added cautiously: "If he's a graduate." There being, naturally, no graduates present except the officer at the furthest corner of the mess hall, Dan's challenge provoked laughter. Many other pranks were played, but there is not room to record them here. The meal over and the brigade dismissed, some of the midshipmen--there were nearly eight hundred of them--went to their own quarters, or visited the rooms of cronies. Hundreds took the air in the grounds. Almost the sole topic was football. Hepson speedily had most of the members of the big squad gathered about him. Others, who could not hope to "make" in football, gathered near-by, as though afraid of losing some of the talk. "Remember, gentlemen, until the Army game is over, it's to be nothing this year but work, work, work!" warned Midshipman Hepson, with intense earnestness. With nothing but football in the air, Dan soon caught the infection even more deeply than his chum.