Captain Cortland tried the file lightly in some of the nicks in the bolt. Then he passed file and bolt over to Lieutenant Hampton.
"Mr. Hampton, don't these nicks seem to fit this file remarkably well?" queried the company commander.
"They appear to—very well, sir," replied Lieutenant Hampton, testing the file in the nicks.
"What do you say, Mr. Prescott?"
The young second lieutenant studied file and bolt attentively.
"I am obliged to agree, Captain, with yourself and Mr. Hampton."
"Private Overton, think again. Do you still care to deny that you employed the file on the bolt of your rifle?"
"I deny it, sir, with all the emphasis of which I am capable," was Hal's earnest retort. His face was flushed, his breath came quickly, but he looked straight and honestly into his commander's eyes. There was no cringing in his attitude. His high color was to be attributed only to the humiliation of the position in which he found himself.
"And this bolt has been in the fire," continued Captain Cortland. "Just such a fire, let us say, as you build three times a day for the preparation of your food. The temper of the end of the bolt is ruined."
"Yes, sir. May I speak, Captain?"