believe that the wind is growing cool."

"Don't speak about it," begged Greg. "I'm superstitious."

"Superstitious?"

"Yes; if a rain comes up just after dress parade and guardmount,
then it'll keep up the rest of the evening, when we might be enjoying
ourselves after a strenuous day of work. But if you get to exulting
over the rain that is to get us out of a drill or two, or bragging
about a cool breeze getting lost around here in the daytime, then
the raindrops cease at once, the wind dies down, and the sun comes
out hotter than it has been before in a week!"

Dick took another look outside.

"Then I won't say that this rain is going to last all afternoon, but
it is," Dick smiled.

"Now, you've spoiled it all!" cried Greg.

"Say, Holmesy, old spectre!" hailed a laughing voice across the
street.

"Hullo!" Greg answered.

"Haven't a cold, have you?"

"No."

"Don't feel that you're marked for pneumonia?"

"What are you driving at Furlong?" Greg called back.

"Come along over, if you can brave the storm!" called yearling
Furlong. "You and the rest."

"Shall we go over, Dick?" asked Greg, turning around.

"Yes; why not? If nothing else, we'll leave Anstey in peace for
his big sleep. Duck out. I'll be on your heels."

The flap across the way was thrown open hospitably as Greg entered,
followed by Cadet Prescott.

"Where's old Mason and Dixon?" demanded Furlong, alluding to the
fact that Anstey was a Virginian.

"He has turned in for a big sleep," Greg informed their hosts.

"Great!" chuckled Furlong. "Let's peep in and throw a bucket
of water over him. He'll wake up and think the tent is leaking."

"Don't you dare!" warned Dick, but he said it with a grin that
robbed his rebuke of offence. "Old Mace (short for 'Mason and
Dixon') has been tired out ever since being on guard the first
night in camp. He actually needs the big sleep. I believe this
rain is for his benefit."

"Say that again, and put it slowly," protested Furlong, looking
bewildered.

Griffin and Dobbs, the other two yearlings who tented with him,
laughed in amusement.

"Now, that we've lured the class president in here," continued
Cadet Furlong, "we'll call this a class meeting. A quorum isn't
necessary. You've got my campstool, Mr. President, so we'll consider
you in the chair. May I state the business before the meeting?"

"Proceed, Mr. Furlong," requested Prescott gravely.

"Then, sir, and gentlemen-----" beg