There was a quick step in the hall, and presently Harple came into the room. Harple was Brightly’s room-mate. He and Brightly had roomed together for nearly two years, and aside from little wordy encounters carried on in jest rather than in earnest, they had never had a quarrel. Harple was captain of Company B. He was a good soldier, a good student, a good fellow, and as fond of Brightly as if they had been brothers.
“Come on, Bright!” he exclaimed, as he entered. “Roberts and I are going to get a permit for a walk, and we’re going down to the pine grove. Come along with us; it’s a charming day, and we’ll have a good time.”
“Oh, I don’t care about going out this afternoon, Charley; I’m too indolent. Besides, I have some letters to write;” and Brightly threw his arms up and locked his fingers behind his head with a yawn.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” responded Harple, earnestly, “you’ll get indolent and careless and everything else if you keep on in this way. You haven’t been out of the grounds for a week; you haven’t studied a lesson with vim for a fortnight; you haven’t cared for three months whether school kept or not. I tell you, Bright, you’ve got to brace up. If you keep this thing going much longer, you’ll wake up some day and find yourself—”
The speaker paused for an appropriate word; then snapping his thumb and forefinger high in the air in such a way as to indicate something being sent whirling into space, he continued, “eliminated. Now you know what that means.”
Brightly looked up, evidently annoyed.
“I haven’t asked you for any advice, have I, Charley?” he said.
“No, but I propose to give you some, all the same,” responded Harple, throwing his red-silk officer’s sash across the foot of his bed, and seating himself astride the only other chair in the room. “I’ve had this thing on my mind for some time,” he continued; “and to-day, when I saw you make such a fool of yourself with Belcher—pardon the expression—I concluded to let out on you.