From Texas’ face he liked it about as well as a mouthful of quinine, and if Texas hadn’t been very, very sleepy he would probably have lain awake all night growling like an irate volcano, and wondering how Mark could snore away so happily while such things were happening.
Though Mark slept, there were no end of others who didn’t sleep on account of him. The committee, just as soon as they had gotten outside, had rushed off to tell the story of “Mallory’s flunk,” and pretty soon there were groups of first classmen and yearlings standing about the camp indignantly discussing the state of affairs. There were various opinions and theories, but only one conclusion:
That plebe Mallory’s a coward!
Fischer was not there to gainsay it, he being absent on duty, and so the cadets had no one to shed any light on the matter, which they continued to rave about right up to the time for tattoo. The first class was so worked up over it that there was an impromptu meeting gathered to discuss it just outside of the camp.
The angry mob was reduced to an orderly meeting a little later by the president of the class, who appeared on the scene and called the cadets to order to discuss ways and means of “swamping Mallory.” For every one agreed that something ought to be done that very night. As has been stated, they never dispersed until the very moment of tattoo; by that time they had their campaign mapped out. It was a very unpleasant programme for poor Mark.
He had to dress and turn out, of course, at tattoo to answer to his name before he retired for the night. Not a word was said to him then; yet he could see by the angry looks and frowns he met with that the story of his conduct was abroad. But Mark had not the least idea of what was coming, and he went back to his tent and fell asleep again in no time.
It is an old, old story, an old, old incident. To tell it again would weary the reader. That night a dozen men, chosen by the class for their powerful build, instead of going to sleep when taps sounded, lay awake and waited till the camp got quiet. They waited till the tac had gone the rounds with his lantern, and then to his tent for the night. They waited till the sentry’s call had been heard for the fourth time since taps.
“Twelve o’clock and all’s we-ell!”
They they got up and dressed once more, and stole silently out into the darkness of the night. Outside, in the company street, they met and had a whispered consultation, then surrounded a certain “plebe hotel” and finally stole away in triumph, bearing four helpless plebes along with them. A while later they had passed the sentry and had their victims bound and gagged, lying in a lonely corner of old Fort Clinton.
The cadets thought four would be enough that night. They meant to give those plebes the worst licking they had ever had in their lives. That would be a pretty severe one, especially for Mallory, who had been roughly handled before. But the first classmen had agreed among themselves that there was no call for mercy here.