"And mine's Chauncey Van Rensallear Mount-Bonsall, don't ye know," said the other, putting on his immaculate white gloves. "Bah Jove! I've lost a cuff button, quarreling with those deuced yearlings!"
Chauncey's cuff button was found at last—he vowed he wouldn't go to dinner without it—and then the party started in earnest, the two strangers giving a graphic and characteristic account of the scrimmage we have just witnessed.
Mark in the meantime was doing some thinking, wondering if here were not two more eligible members of the "alliance." While he was debating this question the "dude" approached him privately and began thus:
"I want to say something to you," he said. "Dye know, I can't see why we plebes suffer so, bah Jove! I was thinking aw, don't ye know, if some of us would band together we could—aw—chastise the deuced cadets and——"
Master Chauncey Van Rensallear Mount-Bonsall got no further, for Mark came out then and told the secret. In a few moments the alliance had added Number Six and Number Seven.
"And now, b'gee, I say let's organize, b'gee!" cried Dewey.
The sound of a drum from barracks put a stop to further business then, but before supper there was a spare half hour, and during that time the seven conspirators met in Mark's room to "organize." Indian was there, too, now calm and meek again.
"In the first place," said Mark, "we want to elect a leader."
"Wow!" cried Texas, "what fo'? Ain't you leader?"
"I say, Mark, b'gee!" cried Dewey.