"Now look at the mess you've got us into, Dutton," said Stiver. "Why couldn't you let the corn alone."
"Shut up!" retorted the cadet captain. "I say, Mr.—Mr. Farmer," he called after the man.
"My name's not Farmer, but I know what yours will be; it'll be Mud, soon. I'll teach you tin soldiers to spoil my corn."
There were murmurs among the cadets. They feared lest the whole company might be punished. But a scheme had come into Dick Hamilton's mind. Without asking permission from Dutton he hurried after the farmer.
"How much will pay for the damage to your corn, and what the boys took," he asked quietly, holding out a roll of bills, for Dick never was without a substantial sum.
"Now you're talking, sonny," said the farmer, a different look coming into his face. "Why didn't that captain of yours say so at first?"
"What's the damage?" asked Dick. From experience he had learned that cash will make up for almost any kind of a hurt.
"Wa'al, seein' as that was particularly fine corn, I'll have to charge you ten dollars for what ye took, and what damage ye done."
"Ten dollars! That's too much!" cried Paul Drew. "Don't pay it, Dick."
"Wa'al, then I'll see the colonel. I guess he'll pay that, rather than have his school sued," said the angry man.