"Ain't got no lumba—Oh, crickey! Let me down, boys. I don't want a ride!"
"Behold, the conquering hero comes!" announced Sam, as six of the boys hoisted poor Snuggers up into the air. "Now, sit up straight, Peleg. Don't you want a sword?"
"Here's a broom," put in Fred Garrison, and handed over an article which was worn to a stump. "Present arms! Forward, march! General Washtub will lead the funeral procession."
"If you let me tumble I'll break my neck!" gasped Peleg Snuggers. "Oh, creation! How can I carry that broom and hold on, too! This is awful! Shall I call the captain? Let up, I say!"
"Send for Mrs. Green to give him some soothing syrup, he's got the fits," came from a cadet in the crowd.
"I'll get her," cried Tom, struck with a new idea.
Off ran the fun-loving youth to the kitchen of the academy, where the matron was superintending the work of several of the hired girls.
"Oh, Mrs. Green, come quick!" he gasped, as he caught the lady by the arm.
"What is it, Tom?"
"It's poor Peleg! They say he's got a fit! He wants some soothing syrup, or something!"