“I’m quite content, even if I didn’t beat Fred,” announced the young captain, with a smile.
Brassy Bangs was quite gloomy over the outcome of the contest, and he and his cronies lost no time in quitting the range.
“I’m mighty glad you two fellows beat him,” announced Gif. “Maybe it will take a little of the conceit out of him.”
“Well, Gif, you’ve got to admit he’s a wonderful shot with the pistol,” answered Jack.
“Yes. And his rifle work isn’t any worse than mine,” answered Andy. “Now, I’ll promise to make a lot of bull’s-eyes for you if you’ll let me use a good-sized shotgun or a blunderbuss,” and at this there was a snicker.
For the rest of that day Brassy Bangs had little to say. But the next morning he was as loud-mouthed as ever, declaring that he would have won the contest had he been allowed to use his own pistol—a long affair of the old-fashioned western variety.
“Had he done that it might have given him one more point,” declared Randy. “Of course that would have put him ahead of Jack in the first contest, but it wouldn’t have helped him when it came to the rifle work.”
“Oh, let’s drop Brassy,” said Jack. “I am really getting tired of hearing of him.”
“I can’t bear him,” put in Phil Franklin. “Once or twice he has tried to become chummy with me, but I’ve always given him the cold shoulder.”
It was now drawing on toward the time for the election, and there was a great deal of wire-pulling among the various cadets as to who might run for the offices. Three names were in the field for the office of major: Jack, a Captain Glasby, and a Lieutenant Harkness.