“I don’t believe he will do much,” said Larry Colby.  “He is only talking, that’s all.  He knows well enough that Captain Putnam can have him locked up, if he wants to.”

By eight o’clock that evening the field in which they were to encamp for the night was reached.  Tents were speedily put up, and half a dozen camp-fires started, making the boys feel quite at home.  The cadets gathered around the fires and sang song after song, and not a few practical jokes were played.

“Hans, they tell me you feel cold and want your blood shook up,” said Tom to Hans Mueller, the German cadet.

“Coldt, is it?” queried Hans.  “Vot you dinks, I vos coldt mid der borometer apout two hundred by der shade, ain’t it?  I vos so hot like I lif in Africa alretty!”

“Oh, Hans must be cold!” cried Sam.  “Let us shake him up, boys!”

“All right!” came from half a dozen.  “Get a blanket, somebody!”

“No, you ton’t, not by my life alretty!” sang out Hans, who had been tossed up before.  “I stay py der groundt mine feets on!” And he started to run away.

Several went after him, and he was caught in the middle of an adjoining cornfield, where a rough-and-tumble scuffle ensued, with poor Hans at the bottom of the heap.

“Hi, git off, kvick!” he gasped.  “Dis ton’t been no footsball game nohow!  Git off, somebody, und dake dot knee mine mouth out of!”

“Are you warm, now, Hansy!” asked Tom.

“Chust you wait, Tom Rofer,” answered the German cadet, and shook his fist at his tormentor.  “I git square somedimes, or mine name ain’t—­”

“Sauerkraut!” finished another cadet, and a roar went up.  “Hans, is it true that you eat sauerkraut three times a day when you are at home?”

“No, I ton’t eat him more as dree dimes a veek,” answered Hans, innocently.

“Hans is going to treat us all to Limberger cheese when his birthday comes,” put in Fred Garrison.  “It’s a secret though, so don’t tell anybody.”

“I ton’t vos eat Limberger,” came from Hans.

“Oh, Hansy!” groaned several in chorus.

“Base villain, thou hast deceived us!” quoted Songbird Powell.  “Away to the dungeon with him!” And then the crowd dragged poor Hans through the cornfield and back to the camp-fire once more, where he was made to sit so close to the blaze that the perspiration poured from his round and rosy face.  Yet with it all he took the joking in good part, and often gave his tormentors as good as they sent.

“They tell me that William Philander Tubbs is going to Newport for the summer,” said Tom. a little later, when the cadets were getting ready to retire.  “Just wait till he gets back next Fall, he’ll be more dudish than ever.”

“We ought to tame him a little before we let him go,” said Sam.

“Right you are, Sam.  But what can we do?  Nearly everything has been tried since we went into camp.”

“I have a plan, Tom.”