“Well, I’ll admit that he’s not a lovable character; but Colonel Silsbee had some good reason for making him the ranking cadet-officer, you may be sure, and it’s our duty as soldiers to accept the situation and make the best of it.”
“Good reason, did you say? Good reason! Harple, I’ll tell you why Brede is captain and I’m only lieutenant; it’s because his father is a general in the army and worth a hundred thousand dollars, and my mother has to stint herself in order to pay for my schooling. Now, that’s what hurts me; it’s the rank injustice of it!”
Brightly had risen to his feet, and was pacing the floor savagely. “Bright,” exclaimed his friend, “Bright, don’t say that! You do wrong to believe it; you can’t believe it. I tell you if it isn’t all a mistake there’s some good reason for it, and one that does no discredit to you, or to Colonel Silsbee either. Why can’t you let it rest at that, Bright, and brace up. Get back to where you were three months ago, and stay there, and don’t give Brede and his set the chance to see you go to pieces.
“And there’s another thing, too,” continued Harple, as Brightly seated himself again in the chair by the window. “I’m afraid there’s going to be trouble here before the term is over. There’s a kind of uneasiness among the boys; they’ve been up to a good deal of mischief lately, and the colonel’s drawing the lines pretty tight, and they’re chafing under ’em. It gets that way every year,—it seems to come in with the spring air; but I’ve never seen it so bad before as it is now. It wouldn’t take much to start a first-class insurrection. If such a storm comes, Bright, I don’t want you to get swept away in it. I’d be awfully sorry to see you lose your head entirely.”
Brightly appreciated his friend’s unselfish anxiety and earnestness on his account, but he was not deeply impressed with Harple’s argument. There was a tender pitch to his voice though, as he laughed a little, said he guessed there was no danger, and continued, more earnestly: “But I’m much obliged to you, Charley; you mean well by me, and you’re a good fellow. I’ll try not to disgrace you anyway.”
“All right! I must go now; Roberts’ll wonder what’s become of me. Say, Bright,” turning back into the room, “look out for Belcher! He’s breathing out threatenings and slaughter against you. Keep your temper; don’t let him draw you into a quarrel,—he’s a bad lot. That’s all to-day. No charge. Good-by.”
“Good-by.”
At six o’clock, when the signal for retreat was sounded, a steady storm had set in, and the line was formed in the drill-hall. Brightly came down while the roll was being called, and, in the absence of the major, received the salutes and reports of the inferior staff-officers. It grew to be so dark in the hall that the wall lamps were lighted.
After retreat the boys usually remained downstairs until the supper-bell was rung; and to-night, on account of the storm, nearly every one was in the drill-hall. Some were gathered in groups, some promenaded up and down the hall, some ran about playing jokes on their companions.
Among these last was a boy of twelve or fourteen, whom capricious nature had rendered so extravagantly obese that he resembled a great, overgrown baby. He had a round, good-natured face, a complexion as fair and rosy as a girl’s, and a voice that would have done credit to a miss of fifteen. When he walked or ran, the flesh on his body shook and tumbled about like jelly.