"Why, yes," said Mr. Wayne, pulling him round again, "and I'm glad I am not there now. Come on; we must catch our train. Never mind all that to-day. So you thought you would be your own master till you got shoulder-straps, hey? Not a bit of it. You belong to Uncle Sam just as much in grey as you ever will in blue."
"Body and soul!" said Magnus with a rather unmirthful laugh.
"Not soul," said Mr. Wayne. "The only power that traffics in souls is the devil, and his vice-gerent the World. But about everything else, from the minute you enter West Point, you are under orders—sworn in to obey. How are you going to bring yourself up to that point?"
"Why, I have always been taught to obey, at home," said Magnus.
"Yes, and when you didn't do it, it was always, 'Oh, Magnus must have forgotten. He never means to disobey.'"
"How do you know, sir?" said the boy, laughing and colouring, too.
"I have had a mother," said Mr. Wayne. "And if there is anything on this earth at the antipodes of the being that owns that blessed name, it is a West Point tactical officer."
"The tactical officer? Oh, he is one of a small force in blue, specially detailed to look after the cadets in grey."
"They must be the ones that our Congressman says come round to see if you've washed your face," said Magnus. "They'd better not try that on me!"