"Yes."
"To stay away?"
"I rather think so," nodded Cadet Prescott, without looking up from the pages of his textbook.
"Then there'll be some show for a poor, hard-working goat," muttered
Greg, closing the door behind him and falling into his chair.
"The goat," at West Point, is one who is in the lowest section or two of his class. Greg was not yet a "goat," this year, though he lived in dread of becoming one.
Hearing a yell from the plain beyond, however, Holmes went over to the window and looked out.
"Dick, old ramrod," exclaimed Cadet Holmes wistfully, "I wish we stood well enough to be out on the football grill."
"So do I," muttered Dick. "But what's the with the goat section overtaking us at double time?"
Greg sighed, then went back to his books.
For fifteen or twenty minutes both young men read on, trying to fasten something of natural philosophy in their minds.