A MILD ATTEMPT AT HAZING.
If Cadet Corporal Murray had any doubts about the necessity for putting
this very dirty scheme into practice, or if his not over squeamish
conscience was the least bit troubled by the prospect, something
happened that same evening which effectually squelched such ideas. It
was after supper, during half an hour of so-called "rest," which is
allowed to the over-drilled plebe. Mr. Murray, in whose manly breast
still burned a fire of rage at the insult which "B. J." Dewey had
offered him, resolved in his secret heart that that same insult must and
should be avenged. That evening he thought an especially favorable time,
for Dewey was still an "invalid," as a result of his last B. J. effort.
With this purpose in view, Cadet Murray stole away from his companions
and set out for barracks, around which the luckless plebes were
clustered. Arriving there, he hunted; he spent quite a while in hunting,
for the object of his search was nowhere to be seen. He caught sight of
Mark and his "gang," but Dewey was not among them. When he did find him
at last it was a good way from that place--way up on Flirtation Walk;
and then Cadet Murray got down to business at once.
"Look a here, B. J. beast!" he called.
The object of this peremptory challenge turned, as also did his
companion, the terrified Indian--once more about to be hazed. The two
stared at the yearling; a lady and gentleman passing glanced at him
also, probably wondering what was in store for the luckless plebes; and
then they passed on, leaving the place lonely, and deserted, just the
spot for the proposed work. So thought the yearling, as he rubbed his
hands gleefully and spoke again.
"Beast!" said he, "I want to tell you that you were very impudent to me
to-day!"
"Strange coincidence!" cried Dewey, with one of his merry laughs.
"Reminds me of a story I once heard, b'gee. Two old farmers got stuck in
a snowdrift--five feet deep, and getting deeper. Says one of 'em, b'gee,
'It's c-c-c-cold!' 'B'gee!' cried the other. 'B'gee, naow ain't that
pecooliar! Jes' exactly what I was goin' to say myself, b'gee!'"
Cadet Murray listened to this blithe recital with a frowning brow.
"You think that's funny, don't you!" he sneered.
"No, b'gee!" laughed Dewey, "because I didn't write it. 'Nother fellow
told me that--the queerest chap I think I ever knew, he was. Had a
mother-in-law that used to----"
"Shut up!" cried Murray, in anger, seeing that he was being "guyed."
"B'gee!" cried Dewey, "that's just what she didn't!"
There was an ominous silence after that, during which the yearling
glared angrily, and Indian muttered "Bless my soul!"
"It's quite evident," began the former, at last, "that you are inclined
to be fresh."
"Ink-lined to be fresh," added Dewey, "as the stamped egg remarked when
it was dated three days after it was laid. That's another far-fetched
joke, though. Still I've heard some more far-fetched than that--one a
friend of mine read on an Egyptian pyramid and brought home to tell for
new. Queer fellow that friend of mine was, too. He didn't have a
mother-in-law, this one, but he slept in a folding bed, and, b'gee, that
bed used to shut up oftener than the mother-in-law didn't. Handsome
bed, too--an inlaid bed--and it shut up whenever it was laid in, b'gee."
Dewey could have prattled on at this merry rate for an hour, for he knew
more jokes--good ones--and could make up more bad ones on the spur of
the moment than half a dozen ordinary mortals. But he was brought to a
sudden halt just then, and muttered a suppressed "B'gee!" For the
yearling, wild with anger, leaped forward and aimed a savage blow at his
head.
The plebe ducked; he was quick and agile in body as he was in mind. And
then as the big cadet aimed another blow, he put up his one well
arm--the other was in a sling--and defended himself to the best of his
ability, at the same time calling Indian to his aid.
But before there was time for another move something else happened.
Dewey was debating whether discretion were not really the whole of
valor, and whether it were not better to "run away and live to fight--or
run away--some other day;" and Indian was actually doubling up his fat
little fists about to strike the first blow in his fat little life; when
suddenly came a shout behind them, and a moment later a strong hand
seized the advancing yearling by the back of his collar and flung him
head first to the ground.
Cadet Murray sprang to his feet again and turned purple with rage and
soiled with dirt, to confront the stalwart form of Mark, and Mark
rubbing his hands together and smiling cheerfully.
"Will you have any more?" he inquired, politely. "Step right up if you
will--and by the way, stop that swearing."
"A very timely arrival," remarked Dewey, smoothing his jacket. "Very
timely, b'gee! Reminds me----"
"Bless my soul!" cried Indian.
"Going, are you?" put in Mark, as the discomfited Murray started to
slink away. "Well, good-evening. I've had my satisfaction for being
called a coward by you."
"You shall pay for this," the furious cadet muttered. "Pay for it as
sure as I'm alive!"
His threat was taken lightly by the plebes; they had little idea of what
he meant when he spoke. And they were chatting merrily about the
adventure as they turned and made their way back to barracks.
"It only goes to show," was Mark's verdict, "that an alliance is a
first-rate idea. I saw that fellow prowling around barracks and I knew
right away what he was up to. We've one more enemy, that's all."
That was not all, by a good sight. The angry yearling hurried back to
camp, nursing his feelings as he went; there he poured out the vials of
his wrath into the ears of his two sympathetic companions, Bull and the
Baby. And the three of them spent the rest of that evening, up to
tattoo, discussing their revenge, thinking up a thousand pretexts upon
which Cadet Mallory might be "skinned." There was a bombshell scheduled
to fall into the midst of the "alliance" the next day.