“What are you going to do with that popgun, you idiot?” asked Long John disgustedly. “Are you going hunting canary birds, or what?”
“I couldn’t find a regular gun, and a cadet loaned me this. He said officers had taken it before and put a dirty sock or something in the holster so the butt would just show, and got by all right.”
“Very well, then, take one of Fat’s socks. The smell may keep you awake. Is the blamed thing loaded? Look out you don’t shoot yourself. There’s the call, now. Put on your belt. You fool! How many belts are you going to wear? What do you think you are, a past grand master of the Holy Jumpers? Take off your Sam Browne. There—get going, now.
“Well, away he goes, and he doesn’t know whether Julius Cesar was stabbed or shot off horseback. Did you ever see the like, Fat? But I bet he comes out all right some way, the lucky little stiff. I never knew it to fail. Well, let’s go up by the stove.”
But Tommy wasn’t such a complete fool as he appeared. He knew the old Army advice for shavetails, “Find a good sergeant and stick to him.” The sergeant of the guard was a grizzled old sufferer who had been through it all many, many times. He engineered the guard mount and posted the guard. Then Tommy drew him to one side.
“What do I do now, Sergeant?” he asked.
“Well, the lieutenant has to inspect the guard three times, once between midnight and six o’clock in the morning. First ask them for their special orders, and then for their general orders. If they make a mistake, I’ll nudge you and you say, ‘Correct him, Sergeant,’ and I’ll fix him up. It’s getting dark now. Would the Lieutenant like to make his first inspection before supper?”
Inspection was a hectic affair. The guard was composed of cadets who had joined the Army to fly and remained in it to mount guard, and it was their intention to make it as interesting as possible for all concerned, especially their superiors. But the old sergeant was equal to the occasion. He steered Tommy by the traps planted for him, and then showed him the guardhouse.
There the commander of the guard ate his slum and then returned to his barrack. Long John grabbed him by the arm as he entered.
“That frog was around again today, and he brought a lot of stuff,” he whispered. “You’re in on it. Doc is goin’ to make punch. Be around at nine o’clock.”