"That's a' right. I'm goin'. You're a' right, Ham'ton. You're a' right. You're sport!"
And, rather unsteady on his legs, poor, foolish Glen went away, much to Dick's relief.
"I don't much care for friends, such as he is," thought Dick, as he got into bed.
In his generousness it never occurred to him that Glen had cultivated his acquaintance merely that he might borrow money from him.
Dick was awakened by the clear, sweet notes of the bugle sounding reveille. He and Paul jumped out of bed, and were soon in their uniforms. Then they got their room in order for police inspection, which, on some days, was made while they were at breakfast. This was one of those occasions.
"There, I guess they can't find any fault with that," observed Dick, as he and his roommate, putting the finishing touches to their apartment, descended to form in line to march to the mess hall.
Dick was leaving the table, to attend chapel, when Cadet Captain Naylor, who was in charge of the police inspection, tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hamilton, report to Major Rockford," he said curtly.
"To Major Rockford? What for?"
"Room out of order."