clear. At least, I've said all that I have to say on the subject.
For the rest, I'll listen to the ideas of the rest of you."

There was silence, broken at last by Greg, who said:

"I think I agree, in the main, with Prescott."

"Oh, of course," grunted Dobbs, in a tone which might mean that
Greg Holmes was but the "shadow" of Dick Prescott.

Greg looked quickly at Dobbs, but saw nothing in the other's face
that justified him in taking open offence.

Somehow, though none of the others said anything to that effect,
Cadet Prescott began to feel that he was a bit in the way at a
conference of this sort. He didn't rise to leave at once, but
he swung around on his campstool near the door.

Without throwing the flap open, Prescott peeped through a slit-like
opening. As he did so he saw something that made his eyes flash.

The rain was pouring a little less heavily now. Down the company
street came a cadet with a pail of water.

It was Mr. Briggs, a round faced, laughter loving, somewhat roly
poly lad of the plebe class.

Just as Mr. Briggs was passing the tent in which Anstey lay making
up some needed sleep, a snore came out.