“There will be some of the fellows who’ll never believe that—Codfish, for instance.”
“Oh, you mustn’t pay any attention to that sneak.”
“Well, there’s a bunch of others besides Codfish. I heard Walt Baxter talking to Ned Lowe just a few minutes ago; and while they didn’t say it in so many words, it was easy to see that they rather thought we should have made more of an effort to save the trophy.”
“If only we can fish it up again!”
“I’m certainly going to have a try at it, and that very soon. More than that, what’s the matter with offering a reward for its recovery?”
“That’s the talk! We’ll do it!”
Here the conversation had to come to an end as the boys took their places in the company’s ranks.
“Battalion attention!” came a minute later from Major Jack Rover, and every cadet straightened up, with eyes front and rifle at his side. A moment later the order came to march, the drums and fifes struck up, and away went the three companies of the school battalion around the campus and then around the school buildings. A few minutes later the cadets filed inside, placed away their rifles and side arms, and crowded rather noisily into the big mess hall, there to distribute themselves at the various long tables presided over by the teachers.
Discipline was rather strict this term, so that conversation flagged during the time set apart for eating. Yet the Rover boys could well understand that nearly everything that was said in an undertone related to the loss of the silver trophy.
“It will certainly put a damper on the celebration to-night,” whispered Fred to Gif, who sat beside him.