“Amendment, b’gee!” chuckled Dewey. “I move, Mr. Chairman, that we say eat it instead.”
“Bless my soul!” chimed in Indian, suddenly taking an interest in the proceedings. “Bless my soul, yes! That’s what I say, too. Let’s eat it!”
“Amendment accepted,” laughed Mark. “All in favor, please say ay!”
And the roar that resulted shook the woods. It boded ill for Bull Harris and his yearling crowd.
CHAPTER XXII.
A DESPERATE CONSPIRACY.
As Dewey said, this was a rare chance. Bull Harris was going to act as host and commissary at one of those surreptitious feasts so common among the cadets. Now for plebes to do such a thing had always been against “the law,” consequently the yearlings had no right to do it in this case. You may not see the argument very clearly, but it was plain as day to the Seven. You see, they had conquered the yearlings and put the yearlings just where the plebes had always been. Ergo—that feast must be stopped.
The party forgot all about swimming and speedily dissolved itself into a committee of ways and means to consider the problem. The suggestions were various and interesting, as usual.
First on deck was the worthy cowboy. Any one could have guessed in a moment what his advice would be. He wanted to sail right in “an’ wallop ’em.”
“Look a yere, fellows,” he said, “I ain’t had a first-class rousin’ ole scrap fo’ weeks. Now, you know I kain’t stand a thing like that very long. I’m agoin’ to have to lick somebody or bust. I say we jes’ sail right in an’ drive ’em off.”