"You're right, Dick. Still, I wish something would pull the fellow out of his gloom. It spreads thick through the whole room."
The truth was that because he could think of no feasible plan to drive Prescott from the Military Academy, Bert Dodge had become morose and irritable. But at last he thought he saw his chance.
It was May when Greg Holmes received a telegram that an aunt of his of whom he had always been fond had died. Another telegram from Greg's father to Superintendent Martin asked that the boy be allowed to go home for the funeral. After an inquiry as to Greg's standing in class, Colonel Martin granted the permission, handing Holmes the money his father had telegraphed for the purpose. When Bert Dodge saw Greg leave the Academy his eyes lighted up.
"Prescott will be alone in his room," he muttered in evil glee.
"There'll be times when he'll be out; but I'll have to work quickly!"
Then a gleam came into his eyes. "Prescott will be in Lieutenant
Pierson's quarters talking over football plans to-morrow night.
That's my chance!"
CHAPTER XIX
THE PROWLER IN QUARTERS
At eleven o'clock the next morning Bert Dodge stepped up to another cadet known as the "sick-marcher." Together they went to the hospital where Dodge reported to the medical officer in charge.
"What's the trouble, Mr. Dodge?" asked the surgeon, reaching for the plebe's pulse.
"Chills, sir, mumbled the cadet.
"Chills? Your pulse is a bit rapid, but not suspiciously so. Let me place this thermometer in your mouth."