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Updated: June 13, 2025
The grin on Dan Dalzell's face as he turned away from his chum was broader than usual. Dan was thinking that, this time, though his call must be a short one, he would be in no danger on his return. He could report unconcernedly just before taps. "No doughface need apply to-night," chuckled Dan. "But Davy was surely one awfully good fellow to get me through that other scrape as he did."
Before long, however, a huge grin began to illumine Dalzell's face. "Wipe that grin off, mister!" commanded Mr. Quimby sternly. "I I simply can't!" gasped Dan, then began to roar with laughter. "Why can't you?" insisted Quimby. "What's the matter? "It's it's your face!" choked Dan. "My face?" repeated Quimby, reddening "What do you mean, sir?"
It was Dalzell's favorite "rattler" for the balltosser. "I think I know the scheme for getting the hair off your goat," mused Prescott, as he sent in his first. "Ball one!" called the umpire. Dan's grin broadened. "Ball two!" Dalzell knew he had the Army pitcher going now, and didn't take the trouble to reach for the ball. "Strike one!"
He had not lost control of himself, but he was warming up to the instinct of fighting when no other course seemed open. Jetson's next blow grazed Midshipman Dalzell's chin. The follow-up blow landed on Dan's left ear. Now Dalzell "sailed in" in earnest. He attacked forcefully and swiftly. Jetson was forced to give ground. Dan pursued him around the room.
He had grown fat and tubby, and a phrase of Claud Dalzell's flashed into Deb's memory as she marked the manner of his approach "that crawling ass, that would lick your boots for sixpence". The noonday sun does not affect polished metal more obviously than Deb's wealth affected him. "This is good of you," he murmured brokenly, pressing her gloved hand. "This is indeed good of you!"
The safe arrival at the fort of Dalzell's expedition was the most deadly blow yet struck at his cherished project. To crown all, he was not on the best of terms with his sole remaining allies, the fierce and warlike Ojibwas. These had no more desire than the Wyandots to fight on a losing side; and, moreover, they had a private grievance of long standing against Pontiac.
His bearing, as he went to Dalzell's quarters, was as proud as ever, though in his mind Dave Darrin knew well enough that he was still under a cloud of suspicion that would never be removed entirely from his good name unless the real culprit should be found and exposed.
When they saw that no more water was coming from Dalzell's mouth the workers placed him in a sitting position, then began to pump-handle his arms vigorously. A tremor ran through the body of Danny Grin. "Hurrah!" cried Dick. "He's going to open his eyes!" This Dan did a few moments later. "Keep on working his arms," commanded Prescott. "Quit!" begged Dalzell in a faint whisper.
He sat with Alice near the piano where Francie and her governess were playing duets, listening without listening to his companion's jerky talk those pathetic attempts to attract him which so many second-rate girls were not too proud to make obvious to his keen apprehension. Claud Dalzell's distinction was that he was the most polished young man of his social circle.
"Well, now, I want to think over that," confessed Freeman frankly. "Of course, Dalzell's record, this term, is in black and white, and can't be gainsaid. It's just possible our young friend can put up some line of talk that will extend his time here, and perhaps enable him to pull through. It's a mighty important question, so I'll tell you what we'll do.
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