And then the crowd indulged in another fit of violent hilarity.
"I guess," said Bull, when this had finally passed, "that we can about count Mallory as out for good. He's only got five more demerits to run before dismissal, and he'll be sure to get those in time, even if we don't give 'em to him—which, by the way, I mean to do anyhow. But we'll just parcel 'em one at a time just enough to keep him worried, hey?"
"That's it exactly!" commented the Baby.
"He deserves it every bit!" growled Bull. "He's the B. J.est 'beast' that ever struck West Point. Why, we could never have a moment's peace with that fellow around. We couldn't haze anybody. He stopped us half a dozen times."
The sentiment was the sentiment of the whole gang; and they felt that they had cause to be happy indeed. Their worst enemy had been disposed of and a man might breathe freely once more. The crowd could think of nothing to talk about that whole morning but that B. J. "beast" and his ruin.
They found something, however, before many more minutes passed. Bull chanced to glance over his shoulder in the direction of the camp.
"Hello!" he said. "Here comes Fischer."
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Fischer," said Bull.
"Good-afternoon," responded the officer, with obvious stiffness; and then there was an awkward silence, during which he surveyed them in silence.
"Mr. Harris," he said, at last, "I'd like to speak to you for a moment; and Mr. Murray, and you, too, Mr. Vance."