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"I'm afraid I'd better," murmured Brayton, as he stood on a chair and reached up to put the blankets in place. Didn't you hear the announcement that this is a committee of honor? The class has a right to send one to any man, and Prescott, the class president, is here. There, those blankets will hold and shut in all light. Turn on the gas, Holmesy, if you will."
If I were a much older man, Holmesy, with much more experience in the Army, I reckon I might be able to give him some very sound advice. But as it is, suh, I know I can't." When Greg returned to the room he found Dick preparing books and papers to march to the next section recitation. "What have you done with that resignation of yours?" growled Greg.
"And leave our camp to be trampled down and made a complete wreck by a lot of crazy cattle?" gasped Greg Holmes. "I'd rather have the camp trampled than my face," retorted Dalzell. "I don't want to flee from here and leave the camp to be destroyed, and our summer's fun spoiled," protested Greg. "We must stop the cattle, or split their stampede." "All right, Holmesy," agreed Tom ironically.
"You came near missing me, Holmesy," Dick remarked carelessly and in a low voice, though he felt very certain that his tone overtook the departing tac. In silence, at first, Greg and Dick turned and walked in the opposite direction together. "Going to load the signal gun, eh, Greg!" chaffed Prescott. "Yes," confessed white-faced Holmes, a quiver in his voice.
"I've got it!" shouted Holmes suddenly, as he jumped off the piano, scattering the sheet-music right and left, and paced up and down in front of the mantel, while I heaved a sigh of relief. "Time for luncheon, ain't it, Holmesy, old boy?" I questioned. "Yes. Sure, Watson. I'm hungry, too, after all that heavy thought. We'll go in and have luncheon now, and then we'll get some swift action."
Punctuality is one of the cardinal virtues of the soldier; to be a half minute late is a grave breach of etiquette; to be five minutes late amounts almost to a crime. "Now, Holmesy, we want light," insisted Furlong. "At first blush," returned Greg, "some of you may not like the job. It is nothing more nor less than a visit to Dodge's room, while he and Blayton are absent at the hop."
"Then I guess our party will be complete," mumbled the mysterious Greg. "Say, Holmesy," nudged Dunstan, "how did you get that smear on the back of your hand? Do you know, it looks like the famous one that Cadet Dodge rubbed off with a borrowed handkerchief, once on a time." "Does it?" asked Greg innocently. "Be good enough to loan me your handkerchief, then?"
Briggs?" demanded Anstey angrily, turning toward the door. "Wait! Have you taken Mr. Briggs in hand at any time?" "Yes," admitted Anstey. "When you and Holmesy were out, last evening, I had Mr. Briggs in our tent for grinning at me and failing to say 'sir' when he addressed me." "You put him through some performances?" "Nothing so very tiresome," replied Anstey.
"But what if the camp should be molested?" asked Greg. "You know, there is at least the Man with the Haunting Face, and there may be others." "Whoever tries to molest this camp will be molested in his turn, I promise you," laughed Harry. "I'm no weakling, so run right along, Holmesy. Even if serious trouble should arise, I have this, you know."
"Then cheer up, Holmesy!" laughed Cadet Captain Prescott. "Oh, it's you I'm shivering for," muttered Greg. Six companies of sun-browned, muscular young men marched away to cadet mess hall that evening. If any of these cadets were more than properly fatigued, none of them betrayed the fact. Their carriage was erect, their step springy and martial.
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