Ross had been “gated” for thirty days on account of some unsoldier-like conduct in the ranks during dress-parade, and this prevented him from accompanying Lester and his party to Cony Ryan’s. He had felt very ill-humored over it at first, but he was glad of it now. So was Lester, when he heard and comprehended the first words his companion addressed to him.
“Brigham,” said Ross, in a suppressed tone of voice, at the same time jumping up to close and lock the door, “I have got hold of something that has suggested an idea to me, and if you are as smart as I think you are, you can perform an exploit that will throw your picnic on the Sylph far into the shade. I never heard of such a thing being done, but I don’t see why it can’t be done.”
Was it any wonder that Lester was surprised as well as delighted? He felt like taking Ross in his arms and hugging him; but he didn’t. He dropped into the nearest chair and looked at him without speaking.
CHAPTER VI.
A DINNER IN PROSPECT.
“I say, Gordon!” exclaimed Colonel Mack, as he stretched himself at full length upon the sofa in the neatly furnished dormitory which the ranking officers of the battalion, whoever they might be, always occupied in common. “This thing is getting to be monotonous. Put away that cyclopedia and talk to me.”
Don closed the ponderous book of reference, which he had been intently studying for the last hour, and putting his hands into his pockets settled back in his chair and looked across the table toward his chum.
“Do you know that Enoch Williams and his crowd declare that it is a downright shame the way things are going on?” continued Mack. “They say that your promotion, and the manifesto you issued at the beginning of the term, have taken the pluck and ambition out of every decent boy in the academy.”
“What manifesto?” demanded Don.
“About guard-running.”
“I didn’t issue any.”