“No, I haven’t forgotten it. I only want to know just how things are going to be managed, so that I shall not make any mistakes. It would be awkward, you know, if I should call the corporal of the guard to arrest the wrong fellow.”
“You musn’t do that,” said Duncan, quickly. “It would be much better to let Gordon pass unchallenged with the rest of us. You know we boys got ourselves into lots of trouble last term, and if we don’t keep our names off the black-list from this time on, we stand a good chance of being sent down.”
(By being “sent down” Duncan meant “expelled.”)
“All right,” said Dick. “I know just what you want of me. Do everything just as it was done last term, and I will see that our boys get safely through, and that Don Gordon comes in for a court-martial.”
When the hour for dress-parade arrived the classes were marched to the drill-room by their respective captains, three of them being drawn up in line, while the Plebes were stationed at one end of the room so that they could watch the movements of their comrades, and learn something of the duties that would be required of them when they were well enough drilled in the manual of arms and school of the company to go on parade themselves. There were two of them who did not pay much attention to the proceedings, although they appeared to watch them closely, and they were Don and Bert Gordon. They noticed that the adjutant carried some papers in his belt, and they knew instinctively that one of them contained something that would prove to be of interest to them.
In obedience to the adjutant’s order, the captains brought their companies to “parade rest,” the band “sounded off,” a few exercises in the manual of arms were gone through with, and then came the command: “Attention to orders.” Don listened, and heard his name and Bert’s read off in connection with those of three or four other culprits, who were ordered to be punished according to their deserts. It was ordered that privates Donald and Hubert Gordon, for overstaying their time, and having a light burning in their quarters after taps (this being their second offence), be deprived of liberty for thirty days, and required to stand guard for four hours on the ensuing Saturday afternoon with packed knapsacks. Then the parade was dismissed, the band struck up a lively tune, the officers advanced to salute the commander of the battalion, and the first sergeants marched their companies to the armory, where ranks were broken.
“Didn’t I tell you just how it would be?” whispered Fisher, who happened to overtake Don while the latter was on his way to his room. “It’s no trouble at all to stand an extra, for it is over with in four hours; and as for depriving you of your liberty—that’s all in my one eye. You can see much more fun without a pass than you can with one, for you are not obliged to return at any specified time.”
“I don’t mind the punishment as much as I do the disgrace,” said Don.
“Disgrace!” echoed Fisher. “Nonsense. This has been a military school for half a century or more, and of the thousands of students who have been graduated here, there are not a hundred who did not, at some time or another, break some rule, and get punished for it. Why, my own father used to run the guard.”
“So did mine,” said Don.