"Then I've given him a bully handle to his weapon," admitted Dick
Prescott dryly.

They were hustling into khaki field uniform now, and there was
little time for comment; none for Greg to go outside and find
out what was really in the air. Battery drill was right ahead
of them. Barely were the chums changed to khaki field uniform
before the call sounded on the bugle.

On the recall from battery drill, the chums had but a few moments
before they were called out for a drill in security and information.

So the time passed until dinner. Again Jordan marched in the
line of the file closers, and now this first classman had received
his official sentence from the commandant of cadets.

So far as the demeanor of the class toward Prescott was concerned,
dinner was an exact repetition of breakfast.

On the return of the corps to camp, a few minutes followed that
were officially assigned to recreation.

Dick stood just inside the door of his tent when he heard the tread
of several men approaching.

Looking out, he saw seven men of his own class coming up. Durville
was at their head.

"Good afternoon, Prescott," began Durville.