"I think, gentlemen," said he, "that my purposes are clear to you now. And I bid you good-morning."
Half a minute later Mark was buried in the wild embraces and congratulations of his hilarious friends; Texas was dancing a Spanish fandango about the inclosure, and Dewey, red and excited, was on his way to camp as fast as his delighted legs could carry him.
"B'gee!" he kept chuckling. "B'gee, we'll wipe the spots off of 'em, b'gee. Whoop!" The more excited Dewey got the more b'gees he was accustomed to put in.
He was back again at the Siege Battery ten minutes later, this time even more excited, more red, more breathless than ever.
"B'gee!" he gasped. "I got it. He'll—he'll—b'gee, he'll fight."
"Whoop!" roared Texas.
"Yes," continued Dewey, "and b'gee, you can bet there'll be fun! You see, he wants to fight. He's no coward, I could see that, and he's mad as thunder because the class won't let him. And b'gee, I chucked in a few hints about his being afraid, which made him madder still, so that when I fired out that last part about knocking him down if he didn't, b'gee, he was wild. Oh, say! He hopped about that tent like—like Texas is doing now—and b'gee he wanted to have it out right away."
"Whoop!" roared Texas. "Let's go up now! I'll help! Let's——"
"Sit on him and keep him quiet," laughed Mark, shoving Texas into a corner. "Now go on."
"We couldn't fight at Fort Clinton, b'gee," continued Dewey still gasping for breath, "because the cadets would have learned. And so finally, b'gee, he said we'd get a boat and cross the Hudson. How's that?"