Brede was still scanning the petition.
“Oh, come, captain!” said some one at his elbow, “sign the petition. If you don’t sign it we won’t stand a ghost of a show.”
“And if you do,” continued another, “we’ll have a dead sure thing.”
Brede’s vanity was flattered.
“Well, I don’t care,” he said sharply. “What’s the use? If a fellow gets into trouble, all he’s got to do is to lie out of it, and Silsbee’ll coddle him back to virtue. There’s no use trying to be decent here any more. Where’s your pen?”
The pen was given to him, and he signed his name. His was the first signature to the petition. Then Harple was sought; but he could not be found, and there was no time to be lost, so others affixed their signatures without regard to the order in which they came.
Brightly signed the paper, of course. He could do no less after having drawn it. Not that he cared about the holiday; but he had become too weak and indifferent to resist any pressure, or to count the cost of any action.
The evening session interfered with a further circulation of the petition; but before tattoo was sounded there was another opportunity to sign it, and at reveille on the following morning it was again on its rounds.
At inspection a committee of two was appointed to present it to the principal. These two, Robinson and Miller, had been selected on account of their popularity and their high standing; one of them, indeed, was an honor-grade man.
They selected the time immediately after breakfast to approach Colonel Silsbee with the petition. He was in his office, and they went there. They were gone but a few moments. When they came out, they were surrounded by a group of eager questioners.