“Yes; it is hot here on this corner,” assented Dick.

“Hot?” demanded Reade impatiently.

“Humph!  Harry and I were just regretting that we hadn’t worn our top coats today.  We came to Gridley to cool off, and this old town seems like a heaven of coolness after the baked-brown alkali deserts of Arizona.”

“Double orders for each one of us,” explained Harry, after the quartette of one time High School chums had seated themselves under a buzzing fan.

Now, the chums of old days had time to look each other over more closely.

Tom and Harry were taller than in the old High School days, but they had not quite reached the height of Dick and Greg.  Both of the young civil engineers, besides being heavily bronzed, were thin and sinewy looking.  Thin as they were, both looked the pictures of health.  Though Tom and Harry did not “advertise” their tailors as well as did the two West Point cadets, nevertheless the pair of young civil engineers looked prosperous.  They had the general air of being the kind of young men who are destined to succeed splendidly in life.

Before the ice cream—–­the first double order, that is—–­reached the table, all of the young men were plunged into stories of their adventures during the last two years.  Readers of these two series are familiar with the adventures that the young men discussed.

“You’ve been getting a heap more excitement out of life, you two,” Prescott admitted frankly.  “Still, from my point of view, I wouldn’t swap with you.”

“Just as bughouse on West Point and the Army as ever, are you?” quizzed Hazelton.

“Just as much, and always will be,” Dick nodded, beaming.

“I can’t share your enthusiasm,” laughed Hazelton.  “We’ve seen the Army in the West, and they’re a lazy, little-account lot.”

Instead of getting angry, however, Dick and Greg laughed outright.

“I wish we had you at West Point for forty-eight hours, right in barracks and Academic Building,” declared Greg, his eyes dancing.  “Whew!  But you’d be able to view real world from a new angle!”

“Oh, maybe at West Point,” nodded Hazelton teasingly.  “But afterwards, in the Army, it’s just one dream of indolence.”

“Well, what do the Army officers actually do, out your ways” challenged Greg.

“Why, they---well, they-----”

“You don’t know a blessed thing about it, do you?” dared Greg.  “I thought not.  You see, we do know something about what Army officers do with their time.  That’s what we’re learning at West Point.”

“Don’t let’s fight,” pleaded Tom pathetically.  “Fellows, we may never meet again.  Before another year rolls around Hazelton and I may have been scalped and burned by the Apaches, and you fellows may have died at West Point, from nervous prostration brought on by overeating and lack of exercise.  So let’s be good friends during the little time that we may have together.”