The old fellow was very much surprised.
“It doesn’t seem possible,” said he, as he shook Don’s hand and gave him a good looking over. “He is the very image of his father, who was one of the finest-looking young soldiers I ever put my eyes on. Mercy on us, how time does fly!”
“Say, Cony,” said Tom Fisher, coaxingly, “can’t we have just one game of ‘sell out,’ to-night?”
“No, sir,” was the emphatic reply. “You can have all the pancakes you want, and as much sweet milk or buttermilk as you can hold, but you don’t turn a card in this house. It is bad enough for you to run the guard, and if I did my duty, I should report the last one of you in the morning.”
“Suppose you trot out the pancakes and milk, and let somebody else report us,” suggested Don.
“Yes; that’s the idea,” cried the others, with one voice.
Don thought he enjoyed himself that night, and his companions thought so, too, for he sang as many songs, told as many stories, and laughed as heartily as any of them. He listened with much interest while Cony told of the exploits of the students he had known in the years gone by, and who had since made themselves famous as lawyers, legislators and soldiers, and was greatly astonished when Tom Fisher jumped to his feet with his watch in his hand and a look of alarm on his face.
“Fellows,” said he, “where has the night gone? It is half-past three, and we have just half an hour in which to crawl by Dick Henderson’s post and get into bed. If we are two minutes behind time we are a gone community.”
This startling announcement broke up the party at once. The boys made a simultaneous rush for their overcoats and caps, and after Don had settled their bill—a proceeding on his part that raised him to a high place in the estimation of some of the students whose parents did not think it best to give them a very liberal allowance of spending money—they dashed out of the house and started for the academy on a dead run, Duncan and Don Gordon bringing up the rear. If the latter had known what the boy who kept so close to his elbow was thinking about, he would have thrown him headlong into the nearest snow-drift.