The Parson had arisen to his feet, the better to illustrate the casting off of the fetters, and his long black hair was waving wildly and his long white arms yet more so. Boston and Boston "liberty" were dangerous topics with him; he got more excited over them than he did when he found his immortal cyathophylloid coral "in a sandstone of Tertiary origin."
"Yea, by Zeus!" he continued. "Such are the auspices, the hallowed recollections of this immortal moment that I verily believe no revolution can fail on it. I say that if ever we strike boldly, we do it to-day. And I, as a citizen of Boston, pledge my aid to any plan."
"Yaas. An' we got a half holiday to-day, tew."
This rather prosaic peroration to the Parson's speech came from one corner, where Sleepy sat lazily regarding the scene. That was the first hint that the "farmer" had offered, and it had corresponding weight. The four shook hands on it then and there, that by the time dinner was over they would have a brand new and startling plan to work for the yearlings' edification. The signal to fall in for drill found them still pledging themselves to that.
Mark said nothing more to any one upon the subject; he left his friends to think for themselves, and he, when he got a chance, started out likewise on his "own hook." In the first place, it was necessary to find out just how the yearlings meant to spend that half-holiday afternoon; having found that, it would then be time to think up a plan for spoiling the fun.
There was a member of the plebe class who had been a plebe the year before, that is, who had failed on examinations and had not been advanced. Naturally, he knew all the yearlings, and, having been through camp once, knew also what would be apt to happen on the Fourth of July. Mark himself knew nothing about it, for no one thought it necessary to tell plebes about such things; and so to this "hold-over" Mark went to learn.
That gentleman, in response to some diplomatic interrogation, emitted the information that there was nothing "on." That a ball game had been intended, but prevented at the last moment. That probably most of the cadets would go walking, or amuse themselves any way—some of them do a little hazing. That it was a pleasant custom to make the plebes dress up in masquerade and give a parade or something. And that finally there was to be an entertainment in the evening.
What sort? Well, it was dignified and patriotic. There were programmes issued—not given to plebes, of course. Would Mallory like to see one? Perhaps he could get one, would see after drill, etc., etc. "Much obliged. Good-morning."
The affable young gentleman did manage to get Mallory a programme. He gave it to him just before dinner. "Thank you." "Oh, not at all, only too glad to oblige you," etc. And Mark rushed into the tent and eagerly read the handsomely printed pasteboard:
United States Military Academy.
July 4th, 8.30 P. M.
PROGRAMME.
Overture.
Prayer.
Music.
Reading of The Declaration of Independence.
Cadet George T. Fischer, Pennsylvania.
Music.
Oration.
Cadet Edmund S. Harris——