“You’re all right there,” answered Harry; “Alex is one of the finest fellows at Flemming. He’s older than most of us, nineteen, and adjutant of our battalion, the truest, steadiest, most all-round sort of fellow we’ve ever had here. I don’t believe he has an enemy in the school, and that’s more than anybody else can say. I’ll tell you more about him some day; but this is Lieutenant Wilde’s room.”
A cordial “come in” answered Harry’s knock, and the boys entered the bright, attractive room, half bedroom, half study. Lieutenant Wilde tossed his magazine on the table.
“It’s you, is it, Arnold?” he said, as he came forward to greet the boys. “And I am glad to see you too, Leon. Sit down by the fire; I have it for looks, not warmth.” And he drew up two or three chairs before the ruddy grate that lent an air of cosy comfort to the chilly September evening.
“We may as well proceed to business at once,” remarked the young man, when they were seated. “Some of the other boys may be in soon, and I want to find out what Leon knows, while we are alone.” And in a pleasant, off-hand way, he began to question the boy about his past work, while Harry amused himself with the magazine that Lieutenant Wilde had laid aside. The examination was a most informal one, and was over and done before Leon had time to be frightened.
“Your brother will easily go into the second,” Lieutenant Wilde said then, as he turned back to Harry. “And now tell me what you have been about, all summer.”
Harry was just entering on an account of his doings, when a knock announced the arrival of Alex Sterne and Jack Howard, who were closely followed by Max Eliot and Stanley Campbell; for Lieutenant Wilde’s room was a favorite resort with the boys, and it had long been his habit to hold a sort of open court in it, on every Wednesday and Saturday evening. Though any and all of the cadets were welcome, it was Harry and his half-dozen intimates who were most often to be met with, gathered around the fire, or walking up and down the long room, now talking over their lessons, now planning some holiday excursion or, quite as often, listening meekly to a timely little lecture from Lieutenant Wilde, for some thoughtless, mischievous freak, too slight to be brought before the doctor’s notice.
This evening was the first Saturday of the new year, and with one consent the boys grouped themselves about their teacher, waiting to hear of the way he had spent his time during the six months that he had been away from them. It was all so pleasant and sociable, so unlike the usual relation between teacher and pupil that, for a time, Leon was content to sit quiet and listen to the spirited narrative of Lieutenant Wilde, to his lively description of the quaint little southern town where he had gone for rest and change, of his summer camping tour in the Yellowstone Park, where he caught his fish for dinner in one stream and cooked them in the boiling waters of the next one, only a few paces distant. But it was impossible to feel himself an outsider long, for Lieutenant Wilde constantly turned the conversation in his direction, in such a winning, friendly way that the lad was soon as much at home as any of the others; and long before “lights out” had sounded, he had mentally sworn allegiance to this young man who joked and laughed like a boy, yet never failed to keep a certain quiet, kindly dignity of his own which made the lads feel that, although he was a real friend and companion, still he was never to be trifled with or opposed.
CHAPTER III.
LEON’S FIRST DAY AT FLEMMING.
“Say, Hal, how does it look?” asked Leon eagerly.