The day had been unusually hot, even for West Point. Those of the
upper class men who felt the call to the evening's hop had dressed
with utmost care and departed for the ballroom and the glances of
soft eyes.
An unusually large number, however, were in camp this evening.
Tattoo sounds at 9.30. Men who wish are privileged to make up
their beds and turn in at this hour. Greg was among the large
number who went to sleep soon after tattoo this sultry night. For
that matter, young Holmes was lonely, both Dick and Anstey
having been drawn for guard duty.
Five minutes after tattoo Yearlings Davis and Poultney sauntered
down the company street.
"Suzz-zz! suzz-zz! Horwack!" came sonorously from the tent solely
occupied by Plebe Holmes.
"Great Washington!" muttered Poultney. "Who smuggled a
sawmill into camp?"
"The disturbance of the peace comes from this abode of beasts,"
declared Mr. Davis, halting and thrusting his head into the tent.
Greg did not awaken, but snored on with crescendo effects.
"We ought to teach a beast like that a lesson," whispered Poultney,
as he, also, stared in at the unconscious but offending Greg.
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