In the camp there are many sharp contrasts. Strangest of all is to see some serious-minded cadet seated in his tent calmly reading, enthralled by the contents of a book, while all around him are disturbing distractions. Neither the fluttering of the moths and lady bugs around his electric light, the attentions of the mosquitoes, nor the laughter and chatter of his comrades, nor the crashing music of the band seem to draw him from his imaginary world. Not even the cry of “Yea! Furlo-o-o-o ...!” so oft repeated by the Yearlings, makes any impression upon him. Whenever a Yearling has a little surplus energy that he must get rid of, he sticks his head out of the tent and yells:
“Yea! Furlo-o-o-o ...!”
From all parts of the camp, voices echo the call, and for a few seconds the air vibrates with the sound of hopeful voices.
After a plebe has been recognized and has become a Yearling, the one engrossing thought of his life is his furlough. This furlough, coming at the end of his second year, is the only vacation accorded the cadet in the four years, and is anticipated by him with the keenest yearnings. For two years he has been living under the severest discipline and restrictions and separated from the loved ones at home. The thought of returning again to the family circle and of picking up all of the old threads of friendship causes a lively feeling of joy to fill his manly young heart. It is no wonder that “Yea! Furlo-o-o-o ...!” finds a sympathetic response in the hearts of all who have been cadets.
On Sunday evenings, usually a dull time in camp, the regular concerts by the Military Academy Band are replaced by a concert given by the cadets themselves. This entertainment is known as the Color Line concert. A canvas is made of the plebe class and all of these who admit any musical talent are ordered to practice. Mandolins, guitars, violins are all brought out and the whole aggregation, plebes and upper-classmen, assemble in front of the hedge. For an hour or more they play and sing for their comrades and friends, who sit around on blankets or camp stools, and wave burning Chinese joss sticks to drive away the tormenting mosquitoes. The simplicity of the entertainment gives to these little Color Line concerts an intimate and charming atmosphere.
As soon as the concert is over the crowd quickly disperses, the girls going to the hotel or wherever they happen to be stopping, and the cadets to their company streets. The quiet of Sunday evening is then for half an hour broken by the shouts of the men as they litter up the company streets trying to assort their clothing for the Monday wash.
“Turn out a wash list, you plebes!” “Step out, Mr. Ducrot!” are heard on all sides.
There grows thereupon before one’s eyes small piles of drawers, undershirts, socks, towels, and white duck uniforms. Each article is carefully counted and listed because if the laundry discover an error on the slip, or find the garment of some other cadet in the bag, a report is entered against the offender for which he receives a demerit. Furthermore, the name of each cadet must be distinctly marked upon each article of clothing.
It is not to be supposed that any such fortunate set of circumstances would escape the attention of the practical jokers among the cadets. Often the surnames of certain men are identical with the given names of girls, as for example, Grace, or Bell(e) or Nelly. Naturally, their garments are all marked in this way. The jokers surreptitiously steal an article or two from each of the above and slip it in the bag of the most Y. M. C. A. man in the company. The following day when the delinquency list is read out the Corps is thrown into gales of laughter by the following reports:
“Cadet Prude: one pair of drawers in wash marked ‘Grace’”; or “Cadet Helldodger: one undershirt in bag marked ‘Nelly.’”