of your piece for a few minutes?"

"Why, surely," declared Cadet Furlong in a tone of great cordiality.

"Mr. Briggs, take Mr. Furlong's piece, and go through the silent
manual of arms," ordered the president of the yearling class.

Mr. Briggs picked up the rifle that Furlong pointed out to him.
Then, trying to look very grave in order to hide the extreme
sheepishness that he really felt, Mr. Briggs brought the rifle up
to port arms.

"Proceed through the manual, mister," Dick counseled. "And keep
going until we decide that you have done it long enough to put
you past the danger of pneumonia."

Standing stiffly, the plebe started through the manual of arms.
As soon as he had gone once through, with West Point precision
in every movement, the plebe started in all over again.

"Now, do this to the stationary marching, mister," added Dick
gravely, as though prescribing something for the very immediate
benefit of the luckless fourth classman.

With that, Mr. Briggs began to "march," though not stirring from
the spot on which he was stationed. Left, right! left, right!
left, right! his feet moved, in the cadence of marching. At
the same time the victim was obliged to raise his feet.

"Bring the feet up higher and more smartly, mister," directed
Dick.

Passing the rifle through every movement of the manual of arms,
lifting his feet as high as he could, and yet obliged to bring
them down noiselessly to the floor, Plebe Briggs quickly began
to drip with perspiration.

Yet his inquisitors sat by with the judicial gravity of drill
sergeants. For ten minutes Mr. Briggs continued this grotesque
work. He knew better than to stop; it would not be wise, even,
to send any appealing glances at his inquisitors.

"Halt!" called Prescott softly, at last.

Briggs stopped, holding himself at attention after he had allowed
the butt of the rifle to touch the floor noiselessly.

"Mister, return Mr. Furlong's piece."

The plebe obeyed, wondering what next was in store for him. Prescott
noted that Mr. Briggs's legs were trembling under him.

"That is all, for the present, mister," announced the class sergeant.
"But you will hold yourself in readiness, in case we call you out
for a soiree this evening."

"Yes, sir," assented the plebe.

"You may go."

Mr. Briggs judged that he had better salute the yearling class
president very carefully as he passed out with his bucket. This
he did, then hastened down the company