"Do you mean it?"
"I certainly do."
"But it's—it's so unusual."
"That's just the reason I'm doing it. They make a fellow do guard duty on a frosty night, to catch guard-runners, and then some one kicks when he does it. No, I'm in earnest, and if some of the other fellows who do sentry-go would be the same, they'd stop this. I don't care enough about war tactics to be a sentry, but as long as I am here no one can run the guard on me."
"I wasn't running the guard. I told you where I was going. I want to see if Hatfield had heard from the Haskell team yet."
"And I find you headed toward the stable where your dog is kept, so I can believe you or not as I choose."
Dick started. It was, in a measure telling him that he had not spoken the truth and for a brief moment he felt the hot blood mount to his head. Then he calmed down as he remembered that he was captain of the eleven, and, in a measure responsible to his men for his conduct. Besides, he reflected quickly, Porter might be trying to force him into a quarrel, and that would never do.
"Very well," answered Dick, as quietly as he could, "I'll report to the major. Good night!" He swung on his heel and turned aside.
"Um!" was the only reply that Porter grunted out, as he resumed the patrolling of his post.
"Well?" asked Paul, as his chum entered.