Indeed so well did the clothes of the cadets fit them that the simile of Sam was not inappropriate.
Each of the successful candidates received two pairs of uniform shoes, two pairs of gray flannel trousers, a gray blouse and a cap.
“Now we really are somebody!” exclaimed Tom, with a sigh of content as he surveyed himself in the small mirror allowed in their room.
“Well, yes, it’s a beginning,” said Sam.
The next day they were marched to headquarters, to take the oath of allegiance to the United States, to serve for eight years, unless sooner discharged. Each lad had to pay a twenty-five cent fee to an old clerk, who acted as notary public in administering the oath.
It was when Tom and the others were coming from drill, a few days later, with aching shoulders and legs—for the ordeal had been severe—that our hero received a surprise.
With his chums he was passing along the parade ground, when he saw approaching an officer whose figure seemed vaguely familiar. The “plebes” saluted as they passed him. Tom had a look at his face.
“Captain Hawkesbury!” murmured Tom, under his breath. “What can he be doing here?” he asked Sam, as he passed on, getting a sharp look from the glittering eyes of Clarence’s uncle.
“Who?” asked Sam.
“That officer—Captain Hawkesbury,” Tom went on, indicating the man they had just passed.