made myself
clear. At least, I've said all that I have to say on the subject.
For the rest, I'll listen to the ideas of the rest of you."

There was silence, broken at last by Greg, who said:

"I think I agree, in the main, with Prescott."

"Oh, of course," grunted Dobbs, in a tone which might mean that
Greg Holmes was but the "shadow" of Dick Prescott.

Greg looked quickly at Dobbs, but saw nothing in the other's face
that justified him in taking open offence.

Somehow, though none of the others said anything to that effect,
Cadet Prescott began to feel that he was a bit in the way at a
conference of this sort. He didn't rise to leave at once, but
he swung around on his campstool near the door.

Without throwing the flap open, Prescott peeped through a slit-like
opening. As he did so he saw something that made his eyes flash.

The rain was pouring a little less heavily now. Down the company
street came a cadet with a pail of water.

It was Mr. Briggs, a round faced, laughter loving, somewhat roly
poly lad of the plebe class.

Just as Mr. Briggs was passing the tent in which Anstey lay making
up some needed sleep, a snore came out.

Briggs halted, glancing swiftly up and down the company street.

No upper classman being in sight, Mr. Briggs peeped into the tent.
He saw Anstey, asleep and alone.

Instantly raising the flap just enough, Mr. Briggs took careful
aim, then shot half the contents of the pail of water over the
chest and face of Yearling Anstey.

Dick Prescott watched unseen by the b.j. plebe. Mr. Briggs fled
lightly, but swiftly four tents down the line and disappeared into
his own quarters.

From across the way, came a roar of wrath.

Anstey was up, bellowing like a bull. Yet, roused so ruthlessly
from a sound sleep, it took him a few seconds to realize that
his wetting must be due to human agency.

Then Anstey flew to the tent door, looking out, but the chuckling
plebe was already in his own tent, out of sight.

"After what I've just said," announced Dick grimly, "I think I know
of a plebe who requires some correction."

"Listen to our preacher!" jeered Furlong.

CHAPTER II

PLEBE BRIGGS LEARNS A FEW THINGS

"Anstey!" called Prescott softly across the company street.

"Oh, was it you idiots?" demanded the Virginian, showing his wrathful
looking face.

"No," replied Dick. "Come over as quickly as you can."

It took Anstey a few minutes to dry himself, and to rear