By this time the season of outdoor drills and daily dress parade had arrived. This particular afternoon, however, in the latter part of March, a heavy, blinding snowstorm had come along. Cadets were nearly all in barracks, therefore, and those who had the most need were studying hard.
"I've boned math., boned French, boned English," muttered Anstey, at last. "Now, I think I'll go over and bone Prescott and Holmes. Feel like going along with me!"
Bert frowned somewhat. He didn't care to "approve" of the two
Gridley boys too much. But it was so deadly dull in this room that
Dodge didn't care to be left alone, either.
"Oh, I'll go," nodded Dodge, closing a book with a snap and rising. "But I'd like it even better if you had some one else in mind to visit."
"You see," almost apologized Anstey, "I want to see Prescott and Holmes particularly because I've been talking over football with them, and they've been telling me a lot about their high school eleven that was right smart and interesting."
Bert said no more. If his ancient foes were going to tell Anstey about the old football days back in Gridley, then Bert feared they might be tempted to tell a lot that would bring up his unpopular share in those spirited old days.
"But Prescott and his shadow won't dare to say anything against me if I'm sitting right there in the room," muttered Bert to himself.
So he and Anstey presented themselves at Dick and Greg's door.
Bert was almost amazed to find himself pleasantly greeted, but
Dick and Greg were true to their decision to bury the hatchet of the
past if possible.
It was nearly time to light the gas. In the fading light Anstey walked over to a window, watching the snow swirl down into the area outside. At West Point the snowstorms are famous for their severity.
"Hang it!" growled Anstey. "I don't suppose you can ever make a
Virginian like myself grow to like this beastly winter weather. And
I miss the drills and dress parade. Don't you?"