How they enjoyed the delights of doing, in a measure, as they pleased, without having to march along as stiff as ramrods, without having some corporal yell “more yet” in their ears, meaning thereby to straighten up more yet, or draw in their chins more yet—how they enjoyed the delights of this freedom may easily be imagined.
They laughed and joked, made fun of each other and their fellow cadets, talked as familiarly as they liked of their superior officers, from the “Supe,” as the superintendent of the Academy and the highest official is known, down to the “Com,” or commandant of cadets.
It was all pure joy and delight—at least for a time.
Reaching Garrison the boys tied up their boat and made their way through the streets of the town. They met several other cadets—upper classmen, but the latter took no notice of the “plebes” nor did the latter dare so much as look at the “superior beings.” Such has custom decreed.
“This looks like a good place to go in and have a feed of ice cream,” suggested Sam, as they passed a place where tables were set in the open air under some trees and vines growing over a pergola.
“Go to it,” advised Tom. “I’m hot and dry.”
They marched in and gave their orders, noticing as they did so that the ice cream garden joined one attached to a cafe, where something stronger than water and grape juice was sold.
Somewhat to the surprise of Tom and his chums they saw several older cadets in this other summer garden, sitting about tables drinking and smoking.
“They’re hitting the pace,” murmured Harry.
“Yes, but don’t let them see us looking at them,” advised Tom. “It won’t do, you know.”