"No; you see, we are off duty," replied the complaisant corporal, "and there is no need for leadership here. But if we should need to be commanded in any way, why, then, Whitcomb over there is to have the say."
There was a rapid change of glances between Rose and her mother, the latter making a quick signal with her eyes. Almost instantly Rose called to Laura:
"Say, kid, the corporal here wants to get better acquainted with you, I know. He said he admires stout girls most—surely you said that, corporal. Besides, I am just dying to talk with Mr. Whitcomb."
"Herb's scared to death already, so don't make him breathe his last quite yet, Miss Thompson," Roy demanded. He would have said this more hilariously, seeing Herb's face turn red, but something in the look his chum gave him shut him up. This also was not lost on Mrs. Thompson's elder daughter.
The sisters exchanged places and at once Rose Thompson set about making herself more than agreeable to Herb. She was plainly bent upon drawing him out of his shell, was apparently determined to discover his brighter side. And the lad, always gentle and polite, unbent so far as to laugh and reply in kind to her sallies, but he did not lose one word being said by the hostess. Presently that lady echoed her daughter's recent request for camp news, doings and methods.
Terry Newlin was almost as ready as Roy Flynn; indeed, he talked more, but really said less. And he never thought twice what it was best for him to say. Now, pleased to hold the attention of all the fair ones, he began to spout upon the subject in hand. He rattled away about the grub, the cots, the drill, the study, the officers; and presently, surer of sympathetic hearing, began to enlarge upon the complaints, as he himself viewed them.
Rose Thompson saw that Herbert was trying to catch Terry's eye and she at once strove to prevent his doing so, for it was evident that the trend that Terry had taken much pleased the hostess. But Herb was not to be denied. He glanced across to Roy, pointed his thumb at Terry and his finger down and shook his head; then leveled a finger at Roy and another finger upward and nodded. Roy, never lacking, caught the drift.
"Oh, box the corpse, Terry, and have the funeral over! Nobody's got any kick comin' at camp, and you know it! Why, company quarters are as good as home and no pig in the parlor nor hen nestin' in the bread-box, as Terry's been used to. Whurrah, lad! Ye give us all the blues!"
This silenced Terry, but not Mrs. Thompson. That diplomatic person saw the crucial moment was at hand to embark the spirit of discontent, and, looking her sweetest, she at once held the attention of the guests.
"But camp life must be really very crude, very uncomfy, very lonely, uninteresting and disconsolate, as Mr. Newlin has intimated. I can believe you are, most of you, actually homesick when you think of the real differences between camp and home, cold-blooded officers and mother love, plain fare and dainties, and all that. Now, isn't that so?"