Early that same morning, after having been spruced up and polished by his friends, he had turned out and received an elaborate set of instructions from a yearling corporal. Now he was putting them into effect during his two hours' turn "on guard."
One of his instructions had been silence. Yet he was only human—and as the angry remarks of the high and mighty Colonel Harvey reached his ears it must be confessed that between chuckles and grins he was far from silent indeed. And a few minutes later when he was relieved from duty till his next turn, he rushed off with unconcealed excitement to his tent.
There were three seated therein; and Mark greeted them with a burst of long-repressed merriment.
"Hello, fellows!" he cried. "Oh, say, I've got the greatest news of the century!"
"What's up?" they inquired eagerly.
"I thought I'd die laughing," responded Mark. "You know all the tricks we've been playing on the yearlings? Well, I just overheard the superintendent talking to the commandant of cadets and he's blamed it all on the yearlings."
"What?"
"Yes, I heard it. And he may punish them. You see, it's always the yearlings who have played pranks before. The plebes have never dared. And so the superintendent doesn't think of blaming us. Isn't that fine? And, oh, say! won't the yearlings be mad!"
The Parson arose solemnly to his feet.
"Yea, by Zeus," said he. "Gentlemen, I propose three cheers for the Banded Seven."