"We certainly do."
"All right. Well, those folks don't."
It was such a self-evident fact about the three in front, that Magnus looked from them to the man at his side, and his eyes flashed with fun. They both laughed.
"Do none of them ever want to get anywhere?" said Magnus.
"Not often—on Flirtation. Spoil the fun, you know."
"Well, you say that is Mr. Fitch, and the other is Mr. Day, then who are you?" said Magnus.
"To be sure!" said the cadet with a lazy drawl. "I've been wondering how long a Westerner could get along without asking."
If Magnus grew hot at this implied charge, he had no chance to show it then. A sudden drum-call, clear and loud, sent its racket through the still air. The cadet stopped short.
"There!" he said; "that beastly review is to come off, after all."
And without another word, he turned and darted up the hill. In another minute, Fitch and Day went speeding by, at the same keen, measured pace, which struck Magnus as unlike anything he had ever seen. A few bounds brought him up to the green level of the plain, where he could watch the three, as they hurried along to the grey barracks. Nor those three alone. From every side, from all directions, the grey and white came hurrying in. Hurrying—yet always with the same even, regular, swift step; the foot lifted just so high, the right arm swinging just so far; and with no seeming effort. Magnus saw one and another of them take off his cap to some lady as he flew by, but without the least pause or break. Only two or three very much belated men dropped into a walk as they neared the barracks. As Rosamund said, "It was too late to get up early."