Eight young men in gray, marshaled by a section marcher, went
swinging up the road with a marching rhythm so perfect that it
was like music.

Each of these young men was clad in flawless gray, with black
stripes and facings. Each young man wore his cadet fatigue cap at
an exact angle. The long, caped gray overcoats looked as though
they had been melted to the forms of their wearers.

No wonder Greg Holmes gave that involuntary gasp. He was
having his first view of a small squad of real cadets.

Some of the candidates on the other sidewalk so far forgot
themselves as to halt and all but stare at the natty young marching
men opposite.

Then, all in an instant, the section marcher and his section had
gone by.

"Don't anyone halt, please," cautioned the soldier orderly. "Keep
your places in the line, young gentlemen, and keep moving right
along."

So they reached the cadet hospital. The orderly marched them into
a spacious, almost bare room on the ground floor and announced:

"I will report to the surgeon. Young gentlemen, wait until you are
called."