"William Philander won't forget his last night with the boys in a hurry," remarked Tom, as he slipped off to bed once more.
"You had better keep quiet over this," came from Dick. "We don't want to spoil our records for the term, remember."
"Right you are, Dick. I'll be as mum as a clam climbing a huckleberry bush."
The boys were tired out over the march of the afternoon and over playing the joke on Tubbs, and it was not long before all of the Rovers were sound asleep. The three brothers had begged for permission to tent together and this had been allowed by Captain Putnam, for the term was virtually over, ending with the dismissal of the cadets at the last encampment parade.
On guard duty at one end of the field was a cadet named Link Smith, a rather weak-minded fellow who was easily led by those who cared to exert an influence over him. At one time Link Smith had trained with Lew Flapp and his evil associates, but fortunately for the feeble-minded cadet he had been called home during the time when Lew Flapp got into the trouble which ended by his dismissal from Putnam Hall.
Link Smith was pacing up and down sleepily when he heard a peculiar whistle close at hand. He listened intently and soon heard the whistle repeated.
"The old call," he murmured to himself. At first he did not feel like answering, but presently did so. Then from out of the gloom stalked a tall young fellow, dressed in the uniform of a cadet but with a face that was strangely painted and powdered.
"Who is it?" questioned Link Smith, uneasily.
"Don't you know me, Link?"
"Lew Flapp!" cried the weak-minded cadet.