"That's good. I hate to pack my house, and all I want to eat, on my back."
The two chums fell to discussing the pleasant prospects ahead of them, some of the freshman cadets in neighboring rooms dropping in occasionally to get points on what to do and how to do it.
They were interrupted by a knock on Dick's door, and for a moment the buzz of voices ceased, as if the owners had been caught in some breach of the rules. Then, as the whistled strains of "In the Prison Cell I Sit," came to them, Dick exclaimed:
"It's Toots. Come on in, you old Horse Marine."
Toots entered, whistling a reveille with great precision.
"Major Webster wants to see you, Mr. Hamilton," he said, saluting.
"Me?" repeated Dick.
"Yes. In his office."
"You're in for a wigging," consoled Paul.
"Court martial for yours," added 'Gene Graham.