“Harold King,” replied his neighbor. “What’s yours?”
“Leon Arnold; I’m Hal Arnold’s brother. Aren’t you Jack Howard’s cousin? He said something or other about you.”
“Yes. Hush! Do hear that fellow go on. He must be one of the fiends.”
“Fiends!” echoed Leon in wonder; for his sole association with the word was the idea of a black hobgoblin, and his neighbor only resembled his mental picture of that race, in the size of his head.
“That’s what Jack called them,” answered Harold, as the class rose to go back to the main school-room. “He says they call those little bits of pert fellows that think they know it all, fiends. Not a bad name, either,” he added, with a wink.
Leon’s reply was prevented by a sudden push from behind, and the next instant George Winslow passed him, jostling him roughly as he went. The rudeness of the motion was so uncalled for and so evidently intentional that Leon, as he stood his ground and gazed proudly into the lowering face before him, felt that sooner or later it would be war to the knife between them.
He felt so still more during his first drill, that afternoon. The armory was given up to the new cadets, together with the half-dozen non-commissioned officers who were detailed for their instruction, under the general supervision of Lieutenant Wilde. There were a few words of explanation of the duties of the soldier, the object and aim of the drill, and then the novices were divided into squads of four and assigned to the care of their different instructors. As he took his place, Leon glanced up to find himself confronted by George Winslow. However, the weeks of faithful training that he had received from Harry, made him feel no hesitation in obeying the orders which were issued, and he promptly set to work to take the required positions for setting up and saluting, confident that he could hold his own with the raw recruits by his side. But for some reason or other, his best endeavors proved quite unavailing, and he found himself constantly called to account, now for having his shoulders uneven, now for inattention, and again for delayed obedience. At first he was annoyed by these continual reprimands; then he grew indignant, for he fancied he caught a little smile of satisfaction on Winslow’s face, as he ordered,—
“Right hand—salute!” Then suddenly struck down Leon’s raised hand, saying sharply, “Get in position before I command, and hurry up about it.”
“Arnold’s position was correct,” said Lieutenant Wilde’s voice over his shoulder; then he added quietly, “that will do, Winslow. I will take charge of this squad myself, for the rest of the afternoon.”
The dismissal was final, and Winslow dared not disobey; so, with one furious glance at Leon, he went away, and Lieutenant Wilde took his place. Drilling under him was an entirely different matter; and Leon left the armory, half an hour later, happy in the promise of being promoted to drill with the battalion, so soon as he should have had a little practice in the manual of arms. But, as he left the dining-room that night, he was stopped by Winslow, who planted himself directly in his pathway.