“Catch him!” repeated Dick. “Cony Ryan’s grayhound couldn’t have caught him. He ran like a deer.”
“Well, he’ll be stopped when he tries to get into his dormitory,” said the corporal, indifferently. “I’ll go and see what the officer of the day thinks about it. You’re sure this fellow, whoever he was, didn’t go out since you have been on post?”
“Of course he didn’t,” said Dick, indignantly.
“Then Patchen” (that was the name of the sentry who held post No. 5 when Fisher and his companions left the grounds), “will have to answer to the superintendent for neglect of duty,” said the corporal, as he turned on his heel and walked back toward the guard-room.
“And just as likely as not he will punch my head for getting him into trouble,” thought Dick, trembling again. “But I didn’t mean to do it. It’s all that Clarence Duncan’s fault, for he ought to have told me that he was going to add more boys to his party. Don Gordon must be outside the grounds yet, and perhaps some of our boys are with him.”
Meanwhile Tom Fisher, having gained the academy building in safety, opened the back door, climbed two pairs of stairs, and felt his way along the hall to the door that gave entrance to the floor on which Don Gordon’s dormitory was situated. This door he unlocked and opened, and stepping into the next hall saw the sentry who had relieved Charley Porter at midnight sitting under the light reading a book.
“Ahem!” said Tom; whereupon the sentry laid down his book and walked toward him.
“Well, you fellows have made a night of it, haven’t you?” said he, in a cautious whisper.
“I should think so,” answered Tom. “Had a splendid time, too. The pancakes were just as good as they used to be, and Gordon settled the bill like a prince.”
“You had better go to bed, and be in a hurry about it, too,” said the sentry. “It is almost time for me to be relieved.”