"Nor I," added Greg.
"It's a shame that we should be expected to put up with any such
nonsense," growled Cadet Dodge belligerently. "Who are the
yearlings that they should feel at liberty to rub our noses in the
mud! We plebes ought to combine to put a stop to this outrage.
Now, I'd like to see any smart year--"
"Eh!" called a voice, cheerily, as the door was thrust open.
Yearling cadets Pratt and Judson stepped into the room.
Instantly three of the plebes present rose and stood at attention.
Bert Dodge didn't.
"What has got into your sense of military manners, mister!"
demanded Cadet Pratt, transfixing Bert with a haughty stare.
"What's wrong with my manners!" demanded Cadet Dodge.
"What's that!" cried Pratt.
"What's wrong with my manners!" repeated Dodge, though a bit
more tractably.
"What?"
"What is wrong with my manners, sir!" Bert amended.
"That's just a shade better, mister," admitted Yearling Pratt. "But
you are too sparing of your 'sirs,' mister. Now, answer me again,
and use 'sir' after each word."
Plebe Dodge gulped hard, but Pratt and Judson were glaring at
him.
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