We have serious thoughts of bidding for a turret from some battleship and using that as a room. Nothing lighter would be of any use. It is long after the usual hour for "Taps" to sound, and we wonder why. The bugler is there, but no bugle is to be found. Some boy has hidden it. So on this, our last night in Camp we have to depend upon the instructors, who collect their boys, march them to their tents and stay there, keeping them company while they undress.
Most of them are really too tired to try any games on the other tents, and without any of the trouble we had anticipated they are very soon ready for the signal. As "Taps" cannot be blown the whistle in the hands of the Director is made to take its place.
One shrill blast and the lights go out. "Good-night fellows, lots of fun going home to-morrow."
