"Such tender ones won't make soldiers anyway."
"I suppose we shall be awfully looked down on at first," mused
Greg aloud.
"Well, we can stand it," laughed Dick. "If we can't, we can't endure
lots more of things that are ahead of us."
"Just now I could endure a good, filling meal," sighed Holmes
comically.
"Yes?" laughed Prescott. "Then just press the button and the waiter
will bring us the bill of fare. I understand that candidates are
allowed to have their meals served in rooms. Although I believe
it's forbidden for any candidate, or cadet, either, to eat his
breakfast in bed."
"Quit your 'kidding,'" begged Greg.
"I don't know that the authorities will bother to feed us, anyway,
until we've passed and it's known that we are going to stay and be
cadets," laughed young Prescott, feeling around his belt-line, for
he, too, was hungry.
"Candidates turn out promptly!" rang, from below, a voice full of
military command.
Greg was in the middle of a comforting yawn and stretch. He
dallied to finish it, but Dick, snatching down his overcoat and hat,
was already out on the landing and racing below, while behind him
floated the advice:
"Come on, Greg! Get a boost on!"
"Get along there, beasts," commanded a cadet corporal in the
lower hallway sternly.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35