Haynes flushed a trifle. The year before he had worn a sergeant's chevrons. This year, for some reason, he did not have the chevrons.
"Wearing chevrons isn't the only sign of bootlick," replied Haynes.
"Is it one of them?" smiled Prescott good-humoredly.
Again Haynes flushed. He had meant to take down this new member of the second class, but found Prescott's tongue too ready.
"I don't know," replied Haynes shortly. "I've never been one of the authorities on bootlick."
"Nor I, either," laughed Prescott quietly. "So we won't be able to come to the point of any information on the subject, I'm afraid."
Greg, with his back turned to the visitor as he bent over the study desk, had been frowning for some time. Holmes wanted to study; he knew how badly he needed the time. But Haynes showed no sign of leaving the room.
Suddenly, Holmes closed his book, perhaps with a trifle more noise than was necessary.
"What you going to do, Greg?" inquired his chum, as Cadet Holmes rose stiffly, holding himself very erect in his natty gray uniform.
"I believe I'll get out for a while," replied Greg. "I—-I really want to think a little while."