The drill was hard, and it never seemed to end. When one stopped, there was only a brief rest period, and then came another. But it was necessary, and the boys were beginning to feel that.
“I wonder what the folks at home would think if they could see us now?” asked Ned, as their respite came.
“Well, I guess they wouldn’t be ashamed of us,” replied Jerry.
“I should say not!” declared Bob, smoothing out some imaginary wrinkles. “I think we look all to the mustard!”
“Or cheese!” chuckled Ned. “Come on—there goes mess call,” he added, for it was noon, and time for dinner.
As it was Friday there was chowder as the main dish. There were fried fish, candied sweet potatoes, green peas, fruit pudding, mustard pickles, bread and coffee. It was a plentiful meal, and several made a trip to the kitchen for a second helping.
Bob was one of these, and it was when he was walking back to his place at the long table that something happened which nearly caused considerable trouble.
Bob was carrying his filled plate in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other, when, as he passed the bench where Pug Kennedy was sitting, some one bumped into the stout lad, jostling his arm, and the coffee—or part of it—went down Pug’s back.
Up the bully sprang with a howl, though the coffee was not hot enough to burn him.