“Never mind—don’t let it spoil the festivities,” cried Andy gayly. “Come on! Everybody join in! A fine of one suspender button for the fellows who don’t sing!” And thereupon he began a ditty he had composed during the war.
| “Johnny get your musket! You must get your musket! Johnny get your musket! You must get it now!” |
And this ditty the lads sang over and over again as they leaped and swung in a circle around the bonfires.
But all gala occasions must come to an end, and by eleven o’clock the bonfires were nothing but heaps of smouldering ashes, and then one by one the cadets returned to the Hall and retired.
“Well, Jack, it will seem kind of funny, won’t it, to be at the head of the school battalion to-morrow morning?” questioned Gif, as he and the newly-elected major turned into the corridor leading to their rooms.
“Yes, Gif. But it won’t be so very strange either, because you know I had to command the battalion two or three times when the other officers were away.”
Their activities during the whole of the day had made the cadets sleepy, and nearly all turned in without much ado. Here and there there was an exception, and these included Fatty Hendry and Dan Soppinger.
“I’ve got to get out some sort of a composition on City Improvements,” declared Fatty. “I don’t know much about ’em, but if I don’t get the paper in by nine o’clock to-morrow morning there’s going to be trouble.”
“And I still have some examples in algebra to work out,” answered Dan. “So I think I’ll go at them before I retire.”
All of the Rovers slept soundly and did not awaken until they heard an unexpected knock on their door some time before the rising bell.