“Milk her again!” is commanded as the glass comes speeding down.
Every morning the “gunner” who sits at the end of the table, in capacity of hostess, so to speak, “sounds off” the number of days until June. Instead of grace, he commences the meal, “282 days until June, sir!” On the 300th, 200th, 100th day before June, the plebes write speeches in which they are allowed great latitude in satirizing the upper-classmen. The yearling who has been particularly annoying during the year sees all of his faults held up to ridicule, but he must swallow his medicine at the hands of the plebe.
It is a real treat to see the men at mess. No melancholy stillness pervades the Mess Hall. One can hardly hear himself in the din of rattling dishes, knives, forks, the peals of laughter, the roar of eight hundred voices all talking at once, punctuated by the plebes repeatedly shrieking, “Bread! please!” or whatever they want. In beholding them, one realizes vividly the meaning of the expression “teeming with life.”
Occasionally, orders are read in the Mess Hall by the Adjutant. It would seem impossible to get the attention of the cadets, but when he commands:
“Bát-tál-yón ... at-ten-tion!” the roar almost instantly subsides, like a balloon suddenly pierced. A wave of silence engulfs the hall, accentuated at times by the fall of a fork or spoon on the tiled floor. Quietly the cadets sit, as the Adjutant reads his order, on “skins” (delinquencies). There are no soft notes in his tone. They are all fortissimo and run together until they become “monotonous,” like the hum of a factory. Some mischievous cadet, unable to bear the enforced inactivity, enlivens a small group around him by stealthily firing a bread ball at an unobserving neighbor.
Each cadet has a silver napkin ring with his name and class inscribed thereon. At graduation all of the rings are melted into a loving cup which is given to the member of the class who has the first son. This child is known as the “Class boy.”
Just before the conclusion of the meal the first captain makes an inspection, calls the Mess Hall to attention, and commands: “1st Battalion, rise.” The cadets file out quietly, form in front of the Mess Hall, and return to their barracks.
The rooms are subjected to a continual series of inspections. First, there is a rather superficial inspection by the subdivision inspectors, cadets of the First Class, twenty minutes after reveille. They give the rooms a coup d’œil chiefly to see that the floors have been swept and the bedding folded and piled. During the forenoon, the Tactical officer in charge of the company makes a careful survey of everything. This is known as the “Tac” inspection, and may occur any time from 8:00 A.M. to 11:00 A.M. Until the “Tac” makes his morning visit the cadets are required to wear their uniforms buttoned. The majority of the cadets sit around in their sweater coats until they hear the authoritative knock of the “Tac” on the doors of the first-floor rooms. They then quickly don their blouses until after he leaves, when sweaters are again brought forth. This time is a study period and it is almost impossible to concentrate on problems that make you feel like tearing your hair, when dressed in a tight-fitting uniform.
When roommates attend morning recitations at different periods, the first-hour men are notified of the inspection by their comrades who leave the mirror turned to the wall as a signal, or, sometimes, just a sign—“He has.” Once a Tactical officer with a sense of humor traced in the dust across the face of a cadet’s mirror, during his absence, “He has.”