"Are we soldiers yet!"

"Of course not," Greg admitted.

"Do you think these people at West Point have time to coax and
pamper us along!"

"Probably not. But can't they--or can't that fellow Brayton--be decent
with us?"

"Now, look right here," counseled Candidate Prescott wisely. "We
want to be soldiers, but as yet we're only ignorant, unregenerate,
untaught young cubs. To the older cadets we must seem like pitiful
beasts."

"No, we don't,"' sneered Candidate Holmes. "We don't seem
anything at all. No cadet here, unless he's obliged to notice us,
even looks at us. We're less than nothing."

"That's true," nodded Dick thoughtfully. "And I'll wager it will be
pretty nearly as bad all the time we're plebes. Now brace up, Greg.
Remember what a small fraction of nothing you are, and be
thankful for the severe handling by Brayton, which may eventually
transform us into at least pretty fair imitations of soldiers."

Outside a drum was sounding. It was mess call, but neither
candidate knew it. Almost immediately, however, Brayton's
rousing voice rang up through the subdivision: