CHAPTER V—TRYING OUT THEIR GRIT
Sam’s billet was next to that of Louis Flink. The former was not aware of this until that night, when the lads turned in at the sound of the bugle. So close were their hammocks that either boy might have reached out and touched the other. Sam had turned in after several disastrous attempts and much quiet grumbling. Dan caught the knack of it more quickly, and so did Flink.
“Say, freckles, you’re a thickhead,” jeered Flink.
“I’d rather be a thickhead than a Pennsylvania Dutchman, any day,” retorted the freckle-faced boy. “There’s some hope for a thickhead, but there isn’t any for you.”
“I’ll settle with you some other time,” sneered Flink. Both were speaking in low tones, knowing that they would get at least a rebuke, were any of the officers to overhear them.
“Yes, that’s your measure all right. I didn’t give you away this morning. Neither did my friend, but it wasn’t because we loved you. No, Blinkers, it was because we wanted to wait for the proper moment to give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your life. Don’t bother me now; I want to go to sleep.”
The first night of their stay at the training station passed uneventfully. At the sound of the bugle, on the following morning, all hands started up suddenly. Sam Hickey muttered drowsily and turned over.
“Get up, thickhead!” jeered Flink, giving the lad a vicious dig with his fist.
“Wha—wha——” demanded Sam sleepily.
“Turn out, old chap,” called Dan. “Didn’t you hear the bugle?”