"Oh, cut it out," advised Dick good-naturedly, for he disliked any reference to his wealth, which, at times, was a handicap rather than a help.
"Will Jimmie let you have the grub-fest?" asked Paul, using the cadets' private title for their superintendent.
"Sure. He can't refuse very well, after we won the prize. You fellows come around, and we'll have some fun," and, as there came a chorus of eager assents, Dick Hamilton hurried to his room.
There, even before he rid himself of his uncomfortable uniform, he drew from his pocket a letter which he began to read for perhaps the fifth time. As he perused it a puzzled look came over his face.
"I can't understand why dad is so anxious for me to come home and do some investigating for him," he mused. "I wonder what sort of investigating it can be? Maybe he wants me to turn detective. Perhaps some persons have been demanding money from him, and he wants to find out who they are. Yet it can hardly be that, either. Let's see what he says about it."
Then the young millionaire, who had been so taken up with trying for the annual prize offered for the best appearing company, that he had not had time to properly read a very important letter he had received from his father that day, set himself to the task of trying to fathom what his parent wanted him to do.
He had not read more than a dozen lines, when there sounded a knock on his door, and, opening it he saw one of the janitors, Corporal Bill Handlee, standing there.
"Well, what is it, Toots?" asked the lad, giving the old soldier the name bestowed on him from the fact that he was always whistling military airs.
"Colonel Masterly wishes to see you, Captain Hamilton."