"Seen Marcy during roll-call?" he inquired.
No one had. Didn't he answer to his name?
"No, he did not," replied Rodney, hastily scanning the faces of the students that filed by him on their way out of the court. "Somebody answered 'here,' but it wasn't Marcy. The sergeant must know where he is, for he reported the company present or accounted for."
"Doesn't that go to show that Marcy and the chap who answered to his name, as well as the sergeant himself, must be in some sort of a plot?" inquired Billings.
"I'll bet they are on the tower," declared Rodney. "Let's go up there, quick."
Rodney's friends did not at first see what Marcy could be doing on the tower, for had not Dick Graham assured them that the flag was all right, and that they would never see it hoisted again? But if Marcy suspected that his Cousin Rodney would make an effort to run up his new Confederate flag in place of the Stars and Stripes, might it not be that he and a chosen squad had taken possession of the tower, intending to hold it so that Rodney could not carry out his design? If that was the case there was bound to be a struggle more or less desperate, and Rodney's adherents would be expected to be on hand; so they followed him to the top of the tower, but halted when they got there, astonished and appalled at the scene that was presented to their gaze. The cousins were clinched and swaying about in alarming proximity to the low parapet, over which they were in imminent danger of falling to the ground; the sentry on duty was vainly endeavoring to part them by placing his musket between the struggling boys and crowding them toward the middle of the tower; and Marcy Gray was clinging to the halliards leading up to the masthead, from which the starry flag was floating in all its glory. It was not the old flag, however, but a newer and better one, whose glossy folds had never before been kissed by the breeze.
"Stop this!" shouted Cole, recovering himself by an effort and darting forward to assist in separating the angry and reckless boys. "Haven't you any sense left? A misstep on the part of one would be the death of both of you. Don't you know that the academy is four stories high, and that the tower runs up one story higher? Let go, Rodney. Give me those halliards, Marcy."
"Stand back, both of you!" cried the latter. "I'd rather go over than give up the halliards. If I had two hands I would very soon end the fracas, but I haven't a friend to hold the ropes while I defend myself."
[Illustration: THE STRUGGLE FOR THE FLAG.]
Perhaps he hadn't when he began speaking, but a second or two later he had plenty of them. Hasty steps sounded in the hall below and came up the ladder, and in less time than it takes to write it the top of the tower was covered with boys. The last one who came up turned about and slammed down the trap-door through which he had gained access to the roof. It was Dixon, the tall student who had compelled the orderly to fold the flag properly, and who afterward told Dick Graham right where to find it. Being a Kentuckian, he was just now "on the fence," and ready to jump either way, according as his State decided to go out of the Union or remain in it. He was opposed to secession, and that being the case, it was strange that he should afterward find himself enrolled among John Morgan's raiders, but that was right where he brought up. Although he was a close student, a good soldier, and one of the best fellows that ever lived withal, he was at any time ready for a fight or a frolic, and it didn't make any great difference to him which it was.