"Would you skin us?" demanded Anstey, halting in the doorway of
the tent and gazing back with a look of mock horror.

To "skin" a brother cadet is to report him for some dereliction in
duty, thereby bringing down discipline upon the offender.

"Skin you?" repeated Dick. "Yes, sir! If you leave me to bring
order out of all this military chaos I'll hand you in to the O.C. in a
way that will take every square inch of cuticle from your body."

"Traitor!" hissed Anstey tragically.

"Mister, it's a whole year yet before plebes can sing, laugh, or be
happy," came the muttered warning, as one of the newly-made
yearlings passed by the tent.

Anstey became silent at once. He had been at West Point long
enough to know his place as a plebe.

"Say," whispered Anstey presently, his eyes brimming over with
glee, "have you seen poor old Dodge to-day?"

"Not particularly," responded Prescott.

"Well, he's the maddest rookie (recruit) you ever saw! Having been
old Dodge's roommate up to reveille this morning, I am in a
position to state that he took advantage of the general laxity last
night, and slipped out of barracks after taps last night. He and
some other embryo cadets got a rowboat, through connivance with
a soldier in the engineer's detachment. They rowed across the
river, to Garrison, and had some kind of high old racket. It must
have been high," added Anstey pensively, "for I happened to turn
over in bed this morning, and I saw old Dodge slipping back into
the room about an hour before reveille."

"Well, what's he mad about, now?" demanded Dick.

"Why, he has been drawn for the new guard! He's on guard for
to-day and to-night!" chuckled Anstey gleefully. "Already dead for
sleep, his official duties will keep him without much more sleep
for twenty-four hours, or until the new guard goes on to-morrow.
Even then he'll have some other things to take up some of his
time."

By-and-by the tent was so much and well to rights that, when
Cadet Corporal Brodie, of the new yearling class, looked in, he
could find no fault with its appearance.

Dick sat down on his box. Greg did the same. Plebes are not
allowed campstools in the summer encampment--probably on the
theory that so much luxury would be certain to demoralize them.

"I'm going out for a wee bit stroll," drawled Anstey, after taking a
look in the tiny soldier's mirror to see that his appearance was in
apple-pie order.

"Don't make the mistake of forgetting,