For cadets used to gymnasium practice, it was an easy matter to climb out of the classroom windows to the campus. Once on the green, Jack lost no time in forming the boys into a single company.
“Attention!” he called out. “By column of two, forward march!” And he led the way, the cadets following in pairs, and marching as stiffly as if on dress parade.
It may be that somebody was on the watch, yet the boys were not disturbed, and soon they filed into the mess hall, where the other cadets were just finishing their midday meal. At one table sat Pluxton Cuddle and at another Josiah Crabtree. Both leaped to their feet in amazement.
“How dare you!” gasped Josiah Crabtree. “How dare you!” For the moment he could think of nothing else to say.
“As it was past the dinner hour the class made up its mind to come in and get something to eat,” said Jack, stiffly, and looking the teacher full in the face.
“You—you—rascal!” exploded the teacher. “I’ll have you to underst——”
“Excuse me, Mr. Crabtree, I am not a rascal,” interrupted Jack. “I am the major of the Putnam Hall battalion and the spokesman of our class—so chosen by a vote of the cadets. We decided that we wanted dinner—and we are here to get it.”
“This is mutiny—rebellion!” gasped Pluxton Cuddle.
“You can call it what you please, Mr. Cuddle. We are entitled to our dinner and we mean to have it.”
“Good for you, Major Ruddy!” came from a pupil from another classroom.