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 Dick Prescott,
who, in his High School days before going to West Point, had worked as an
amateur space 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 midshipmen, 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