TARGET PRACTICE
“Hurrah! Putnam Hall wins the race!”
“That was a dandy, wasn’t it?”
“Our boys rowed for all they were worth!”
Yells and cheers rent the air and there was a tooting of horns and
whistles.
It was certainly a great victory for Putnam Hall, and Captain Putnam and
George Strong were correspondingly proud. As usual Josiah Crabtree kept
in the background, for he thought all such contests foolish.
“I congratulate you,” the captain said to Dale and the others. “You
deserve a great deal of credit.”
“You won because you kept at it to the end,” said George Strong.
Dan Baxter and his cronies were not happy. The victory of our friends
seemed to make their defeat worse.
“I suppose they’ll crow over us for keeps now,” said Coulter.
“Oh, these races don’t amount to much anyway,” put in Reff Ritter, with
a yawn.
“If they crow over me I’ll shut ’em up,” said Dan Baxter, savagely.
That evening the cadets of Putnam Hall held a celebration on the campus,
and Jack, Pepper, and their chums were in high spirits. Baxter and his
crowd did not show themselves.
“Poor Baxter!” said Andy. “He must feel sore all over—after the way he
blowed.”
“Maybe it will teach him a lesson not to do so much blowing in the
future,” came from Stuffer.
A campus fire had been lit, and around this the boys danced and sang
songs. The barrels were piled high, so that the illumination could be
seen a long distance.
“I wish the Fords had been here to see the race,” said Pepper.
“And our folks,” returned Jack. “We’ll have to send a full account in
the next letters we write.”
“Harry Blossom took some photos,” said Stuffer. “He said he would let us
each have one.”
“Good for the first lieutenant of Company A!” cried Jack.
“Hullo, here comes Peleg Snuggers!” cried Andy. “Now for some fun.”
The cue was quickly taken up by the others, and in a trice the
general-utility man was surrounded.
“Come, Peleg, we want you to make a speech!” cried Pepper.
“Don’t know nuthin’ about makin’ speeches,” grumbled the man.
“Oh, yes, you do,” put in Andy. “Come now, that’s a good man. Get upon
the box!”
“Put him on this barrel!” said Stuffer, with a wink at his friends.
In a twinkling Peleg Snuggers was lifted up.
“Hi! hi! let me go!” he roared. “I don’t want to stand on no barrel.”
“It will be good for your health, Peleg,” said another cadet.
“Up he goes!”
The general-utility man was placed on the barrel, which stood on a box.
The outfit was a decidedly shaky one, and poor Peleg trembled from head
to foot.
“I’m a-goin’ over!” he groaned. “I know I’m a-goin’ over!”
“Steady, old boy!” sang out a cadet. “Think you’re in a circus, doing
the great balancing act?”
“I ain’t no circus actur, I ain’t!”
“Now for the speech,” said Pepper. “I’ll begin it for you. Friends,
debtors, and fellow-countrymen: On this sad and joyous occasion, it
makes us smile in tears to see so many ugly but handsome faces looking
towards and away from us. There you are. Now go ahead, proceed, start,
and begin.”
“I can’t make no speech, I tell you!” roared the general-utility man.
“Oh, Peleg, you make me cry!” said Andy. “Please go on, that’s a dear
good fellow!”
“Go ahead and we’ll present you with a bunch of rhubarb blossoms,” said
Stuffer.
“An’ measure yer head fer a golden crown, so we will!” added Emerald.
“If he can’t talk we’ll have to warm him up!” said another student, and
waved a torch towards Snuggers.
This was a signal for all the boys to get torches, and soon they formed
a circle around the barrel, each with a torch extended towards poor
Peleg.
“Don’t you burn me!” shrieked the unfortunate utility man.
“Speech! speech!” was the cry, and the boys came a little closer with
their torches.
“I don’t know what to say!”
“Speech! speech!” And the boys came still closer.
“I can’t—oh, gracious! Don’t burn me, I tell you! Keep back!” The sweat
was pouring from the man’s face. “I can’t—— Well, here goes! This here
school is the best in the world. You fellers is the best in—keep back
with that torch! You fellers is the worst—I mean the best in the world.
I’m glad to serve you, but I’d be gladder if you’d leave me—get back, I
say! It’s been a juberous day, and we are all—we—are all——”
“Overflowing with joy,” suggested Jack.
“I ain’t overflowing with joy—oh, get back! Yes, I am, and this glorious
school—— Oh!”
The speech came to a sudden end, as the top of the barrel gave a crack.
Down went the general-utility man into the barrel, which rolled from the
box to the ground.
“Hullo!” cried Pepper. “Peleg wants a roll! Let’s give it to him.”
“I don’t want——” began the poor man, but could say no more. Over and
over went the barrel, around the campus, with Snuggers in it, the cadets
shrieking wildly with joy. Then down the hill to the rear it went.
“It’s going into the lake!”
“Can he swim?”
“I don’t think he can!”
“I ain’t goin’ into the lake!” screamed Peleg Snuggers, and clutched at
some tufts of grass as he passed. This served to turn the barrel in a
different direction, and it brought up against a tree with a bang. Then
the general-utility man crawled out and ran for the barn. He did not
show himself again for the balance of that evening.
The fun was carried into the school, and late that evening there were
several pillow-fights which George Strong and Josiah Crabtree had to
stop. In the mix-up one of the pillows burst open, and Crabtree got all
the feathers over his head and had to beat a retreat. But by midnight
the fun came to an end and the school became as quiet as usual.
During the following week the boys had something to do which pleased the
majority of them a great deal. For three afternoons of the week a part
of each company went out for target practice. The targets were set up in
a field some distance from the lake, where it would be perfectly safe to
shoot at them. Each student was given five shots, and if he was a poor
marksman Captain Putnam took it upon himself to teach the lad how to
shoot better.
Jack, Andy, and Dale went out together, and the youthful major of the
battalion was lucky enough to make forty-seven points out of a possible
fifty.
“That is very good, Major Ruddy,” said Captain Putnam. “I am glad to
know that our major can shoot so well.”
“Well, I suppose a commander ought to know something about it,” answered
Jack, modestly.
When it came Andy’s turn to shoot, the acrobatic lad made forty-one out
of a possible fifty. This was not so high, but as thirty-five was
considered the passing mark there was no complaint.
“Well, I suppose it could be worse,” was Andy’s comment. He had been
afraid that he would not pass, for he did very little shooting.
Reff Ritter was the next student up, and by luck more than anything else
he made forty-three points.
“I learned to shoot in Paris,” he said, loudly. “A French expert taught
me.”
“That was very good,” said Captain Putnam, quietly.
Gus Coulter came next and at first failed to hit the target. His total
was twenty-eight points.
“I shall have to give you a few lessons in shooting,” said the master of
the Hall.
“The—er—the wind was too strong,” grumbled Coulter.
At that moment came a wild cry from one side of the field.
“Mad dog! Mad dog! Save me! Save me!”