Much of the “idle” time through the day was spent in short naps, to make up for that short six hours and a half of regular night sleep.

Yet all the young men seemed to thrive in their life of hard work and outdoor air.

Hazing was proceeding merrily, so far as some of the yearlings were concerned.  Perhaps half of the class in all engaged in two or more real hazings through the summer.  A few of the third classmen became almost inveterate hazers.

But Dick Prescott, true to the principles had stated at the beginning of the encampment, hazed a plebe only when he believed it to be actually necessary in order to keep properly down some bumptious new man.

Dodge returned from hospital after a very short stay there.  Word had spread through the camp.  Though Dodge, who admitted frankly that his thrashing had been deserved, managed to keep a few friends, but was avoided by most of the yearlings.  Since he had taken his medicine so frankly, he was not, however, “cut.”

One afternoon, when Dick had been dozing on his mattress for about ten minutes, during a period of freedom from drill, the tent flap rustled, and Yearling Furlong looked in.

“What is it?” called Dick.

“Sorry if I’ve roused you, old ramrod,” murmured the caller.

“That’s all right, Milesy.  Come in and rest yourself.  You won’t mind if I keep flat, will you?

“Not in training for sick report?” asked Furlong, glancing down solicitously.  But he saw the glow of robust health glowing through the deep coat of tan on Prescott’s face.

“My appetite doesn’t resemble sick report,” laughed Dick.  “But, while you don’t really look ill, Milesy, it’s very plain that you have something serious on your mind.  Out with it!

“I guess that will make me feel better,” assented Furlong, with a sigh.  “It’s all that little plebe beast, Mr. Briggs.”

“Surely he hasn’t been hazing you?” inquired Prescott, opening his eyes very wide.

“No, no; not just that, old ramrod,” replied Furlong.  “But Mr. Briggs is proving a huge disappointment to me.  I’ve done my best to make a meek and lowly cub of him, but he won’t consent to fill his place.  Now, that little beast made a good enough get away with his studies during the three months before camp.  He mastered all the work of the soldier in ranks.  At bottoms Mr. Briggs is really a very good little boy soldier.  But he’s so abominably and incurably fresh that he should have gone to Annapolis, where there’s always some salt in the breeze.

“What has Mr. Briggs been doing now?” asked Dick with interest.

“What doesn’t Mr. Briggs do?” sighed Furlong mournfully.  “Instead of sleeping nights, that beast must lie awake, devising more ways of being unutterably fresh.  But now he’s contaminating his bunkie, Mr. Ellis.”

“Evil company always did work havoc with good manners,” nodded Dick.  “So Mr. Ellis has gone bad, has he?”