LIEUTENANT TOPHAM FEELS QUEER

Yearling Kelton barely turned his head, but he caught sight of the olive drab of the uniform of the Army officer within a few feet.

Pretending not to have seen the officer, Cadet Kelton drew in his breath with a sharp whistle.  It was not loud, but it was penetrating, and it carried the warning.

Swift as a flash Prescott caught upside-down Mr. Ellis, and fairly rolled him out under the canvas edge at the back of the tent.

Greg instantly shoved the prostrate Mr. Briggs through by the same exit.

Fortunately both plebes were too much astonished to utter a sound.

“Crouch and scowl at me, Greg—–­hideously whispered alert-witted Dick.”

As he spoke, Prescott swiftly crouched before Holmes.  Dick’s hands rested on his knees; he stuck out his tongue and scowled fiercely at Holmes, who tried to repay the compliment with interest.

Although all the yearlings in the tent had been “scared stiff” at Kelton’s low, warning signal, all, by an effort, laughed heartily, their gaze on Prescott and Holmes.

“Yah!” growled Dick.  “Perhaps I did steal the widow’s chickens, and I’ll even admit that I did appropriate the pennies from her baby’s bank.  But that’s nothing.  Tell ’em about the time you stole the oats from the blind horse’s crib and put breakfast food in its place.”

Everyone of the yearlings in the tent knew that trouble stood at the door, and that they must keep up the pretence.

There was a chorus of laughter, and two or three applauded.

“I did—–­admit it,” bellowed Greg.   “But you stand there and admit
the whole shameful truth about the time that you-----”

“Attention!” called Kelton, turning, then recognizing Lieutenant Topham and saluting.  “The officer in charge!”

On the jump every yearling inside turned and stood rapidly at attention.

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry to have spoiled the show,” laughed Lieutenant Topham.  He had seen the shadows of Briggs and Ellis on the canvas, and had expected to drop in upon a different scene.  But now this tac. was wholly disarmed.  He honestly believed that he had stumbled upon a party of yearlings having a good time with a bit of nonsensical dialogue.

“Mr. Prescott!  Mr. Holmes!”

“Sir?” answered both yearlings, saluting.

“I will suggest that you two might work up the act you were just indulging in.  You ought to raise a great laugh the next time a minstrel show is given by the cadets.”

“Thank you, sir”—–­from both “performers.”

Lieutenant Topham turned and passed on down the company street.

The two expelled plebes, in the meantime, had a chance to slip off silently.  Even had Briggs and Ellis been inclined to “show up” their hazers, they knew too well the fate that would await such a pair of plebes at the hands of the cadet corps.