"I can see those medical big-wigs pawing me over now," shivered
Greg. "I suppose, at a place as wonderful and as learned as West
Point, the doctors are all fussy old men, with their gold-rimmed
spectacles and shiny frock coats."

"Wait and see," advised Dick, trying to get a grip on himself to
control his nervousness.

Another door opened, to admit a dandified and very smart-looking
young officer, apparently about twenty-five years of age.

"You're all ready, young gentlemen?" he asked smilingly.

"We're waiting for the doctor," replied Greg, who was close to the
door by which the officer had entered.

"I am one of the surgeons," replied the young officer pleasantly.

"Gee whiz!" remarked one raw-boned youth, in what was meant to
be a confidential whisper, but which rose to a pitch that carried it
around the room. "Say, he doesn't look much like our old
saw-bones doc down home way!"

The surgeon was followed by a smart-looking soldier of the
hospital corps, who started to close the shades of the room.

"You have all been to the treasurer's office and deposited your
funds?" asked the young surgeon, turning again. This time his
question appeared to be addressed to Dick more particularly than
to anyone else.