"Hurt me! Who?"
"The cadets, sir! Bless my soul, I—puff—heard them say, they were—puff—oh!—going to b-b-beat the general."
There was a moment of silence, then a perfect roar of laughter came from the staff officers. The general laughed too, for a moment, but when he saw the plebe's alarm and perplexity he stopped and gazed at him with a kindly expression. "My boy," he said, "you've been letting the yearlings fool you."
"Fool me!" echoed Indian in horror. "Bless my soul!—how?"
"Beating the general means," answered the officer, "beating the general assembly, which is a drum call."
The officers shook with laughter again, and as for poor Indian, he was thunderstruck. So he had been fooled again! So he had let those mean cadets haze him once more! And—and——
Poor Indian's eyes began to fill with tears. And he choked down a great big sob. The old officer saw his look of misery.
"Do they fool you often that way, my boy?" he asked, sympathetically.
"Ye—yes!" answered Indian, at the verge of a weeping spell. "Ye—yes, th-they do. And I think it's real mean."
"So do I," said the general, smiling. "I tell you how we'll fix it. Don't you let on they succeeded."