lower hallway sternly. "This is no sleeping match!"

Out in the yard several candidates had already run. Some of these
young men at home, had been accustomed to being waited on by
mothers and sisters. Yet here, in the seemingly freezing and hostile
air of the Military Academy, these same young men were fast
learning that everything has to be done by one's self, and at
steam-engine speed.

"Mr. Danvers, come with me, and I'll place you as right guide,"
called Cadet Brayton with the air and tone of a budding military
martinet.

Candidate Danvers followed meekly. Brayton looked at the lad's
stooping shoulders with frigid, utter disapproval.

"Mr. Danvers, take your hands out of your pockets, sir."

"All right," laughed Mr. Danvers, obeying, and trying to laugh
nonchalantly. "Anything to please."

"Don't address a superior officer, sir, unless he addresses you in a
way to make a reply necessary. And when you do address a
Superior officer, or any other cadet or candidate on official
business always add 'sir.'"

Danvers nodded, but the nod Cadet Corporal Brayton ignored by
turning on his heel and stepping, with a magnificently military air
and carriage, over to another luckless candidate.