"I've seen her hangin' roun' the hospital inquirin' fo' Mark. An' I can tell by the way she looks at him. I don't think she likes to see him so chummy with Grace."
"That's more romantic yet," chuckled Dewey. "Why don't Mark care for her?"
"You see," said Texas, "some o' the cadets, one of 'em a pretty decent feller, a friend o' Mark's, told him that she waren't—she waren't quite right. She's somethin' of a flirt, you know. I don't like girls that kind much myself an' I'm sure Mark don't. He's kep' pretty shy o' her, an' I kinder think she's noticed it."
"Is she pretty?" inquired the other.
"She's mos' as pretty as Grace," responded Texas. "An' that's sayin' a deal. She's what you call a brunette—black hair an' eyes. There's some girls a feller feels are all right; he feels he's a better feller when he's with them. Grace Fuller's one of 'em. She's jes' the angel we call her. Then there's some that ain't, an' this girl's one of them."
"Quite a character analysis," laughed the other. "But I guess, b'gee, you're right, all the same. And speaking of unpleasant characters, there's that Bull Harris. We haven't heard from him for a long time."
"I reckon," said Texas, "Bull's been wantin' to see what the first class'd do to Mark since he'd failed to haze him. I reckon the durty ole rascal's right well satisfied now."
"You don't love him much," observed the other.
"Why should I? Ain't he tried every mean kid trick he could think of on Mark an' me, too? He's all right to bully girls but when he tried Mark now, he found he'd hit a snag. He's been doin' nothin' ever since but tryin' to get us into scrapes. An' I was thinkin' to-day, 'tain't no lucky sign he's quiet. I jes' reckon he's plottin' some new durnation trick."
"I wish he'd come on with it," laughed Dewey. "Life is getting really monotonous the last two days since Mark's been in hospital. We've been having so many lively and interesting brushes with the cadets, b'gee, that I can't get along without some excitement at least every day."