A DESPERATE CONSPIRACY.
As Dewey said, this was a rare chance. Bull Harris was going to act as
host and commissary at one of those surreptitious feasts so common
among the cadets. Now for plebes to do such a thing had always been
against “the law,” consequently the yearlings had no right to do it in
this case. You may not see the argument very clearly, but it was plain
as day to the Seven. You see, they had conquered the yearlings and put
the yearlings just where the plebes had always been. _Ergo_――that
feast must be stopped.
The party forgot all about swimming and speedily dissolved itself into
a committee of ways and means to consider the problem. The suggestions
were various and interesting, as usual.
First on deck was the worthy cowboy. Any one could have guessed in a
moment what his advice would be. He wanted to sail right in “an’
wallop ’em.”
“Look a yere, fellows,” he said, “I ain’t had a first-class rousin’
ole scrap fo’ weeks. Now, you know I kain’t stand a thing like that
very long. I’m agoin’ to have to lick somebody or bust. I say we jes’
sail right in an’ drive ’em off.”
“Betcher life, b’gee!” observed Dewey.
“Objection, Mr. Chairman,” said the Parson, gravely. “There’ll be a
good many of them, and――――”
“The mo’ the merrier!” cried Texas. “I want to fight.”
“Bless my soul!” gasped Indian’s little voice. “I don’t say to. We’ll
spoil all the goodies. I say let’s scare ’em off and eat the supper.”
That was the first time the timid fat boy had ever been known to offer
a suggestion in council. But this was a very grave matter for Indian;
the picture of so many “goodies” being trampled upon by the ruthless
combatants was indeed a terrible one. And so Indian ventured a word
for peace, even in opposition to that dreadful Texan.
It happened curiously enough, however, that Indian’s suggestion was
the one adopted, after all. A little sober discussion soon brought out
the fact that Dewey hadn’t the least idea how many yearlings Bull
meant to have, and while on paper several plebes might very easily
drive off a dozen or two yearlings, it was quite another matter when
one came to the actual combat. Therefore, in spite of all the Texan’s
indignant protestations, it was agreed that strategy alone was to win
this battle. Or, in other words――――
“We’ve got to scare ’em off, b’gee!”
But that, too, had its difficulties when you came to carry it out.
The first suggestion was that somebody dress up as a ghost and scare
the yearlings away. It seemed as if Providence had lent its sanction
to this idea, for the Parson was truly “just built” to play the ghost.
In fact, so Dewey said, he was such a fine specimen that it was a
miracle that Beelzebub hadn’t appeared and carried him off to Hades
before this; the only possible supposition was that he was waiting for
the Parson to train down a little for the journey.
All this was irrelevant, and irreverent besides. The ghost idea was
squelched by Mark’s observation that the yearlings would probably get
on to the scheme and go for the ghost; the Parson therefore declined
to serve. Dewey suggested that a few horrible groans from the dark
woods might do the work.
It was argued, however, that they’d hardly run away for that; Indian
vowed that it would take more than a groan to scare him away from a
supper, and the Seven could not but admit that what wouldn’t scare
Indian would surely not do for the yearlings.
Quite a long time was spent in fruitless discussion. It is not
necessary to repeat it all here. Suffice it to say that nobody thought
of anything that seemed just quite right to do for so important an
occasion, and that the unhappy plebes were still discussing the matter
when they strolled back toward camp that afternoon.
It lacked then still half an hour before the drum sounded the call to
quarters, and so there was no use entering the enclosure. The party
sat down on a fallen log nearby, and lazily watched the doings of the
plebes who were on guard and the corporal who was “testing” them.
Meanwhile they still discussed the all-important problem.
It did seem then as if they’d have to fall back on the original Texas
proposition――a desperate charge, a hand-to-hand conflict, and “to the
victor belong the spoils.”
“But it’ll be all spoiled!” wailed Indian.
Yet, what else was there? The Parson had left all his chemicals
behind, and so he could not devise any “pyrotechnic effects” to
frighten them. As to bribing the drum orderly, that was impossible,
because the yearlings would “make it hot for him,” if he turned
traitor. And that was about all that had so far been suggested.
While they were discussing it one of the tactical officers came out of
his tent and strode past the sentry. He came toward the plebes, and
they stopped talking, arose and saluted him as he passed. A moment or
two later he had gone into the woods and they sat down again.
That may seem to be a very trivial incident; the reader is probably
wondering why on earth it is mentioned here at all. Great happenings,
however, depend very often on the most trivial circumstances.
It was Erasmus who observed that if Cleopatra’s nose had been just a
little shorter the whole history of the globe would have been changed.
You may dispute that if you choose, but at any rate, it is most
certain that a very desperate and daring scheme was destined to grow
out of this incident――the passing of the blue-uniformed lieutenant.
The Seven were silent for a few moments after having resumed their
comfortable attitudes. Then Texas spoke.
“Do you know, Mark,” said he, “somehow or other when I look at that
’tac’ I always think of you.”
“Why’s that?” laughed Mark.
“You look so much like him,” was the answer.
“I shall be glad,” Mark responded, “if I can always make as soldierly
an appearance as Lieutenant Allen does.”
“Well, you look just like him,” said Texas. “Your figures are alike
and your faces, too, a little.”
After that there was another silence. But it was the silence before
the storm; such a silence as you might suppose would occur when a man
was about to drop a match in a keg of powder. And then suddenly Mark
leaped up with a cry of surprise, of delight, of――what shall I say to
describe it?
“By jingo!” he cried, “I’ve got it!”
The rest――stupid idiots!――stared at him in amazement. “Got it!” echoed
Texas. “Got what?”
Mark was too busy dancing about with delight to answer. But suddenly
he stopped and stared at his friends.
“Do you mean,” he demanded. “Do you fellows mean that you actually
haven’t guessed it? What!”
The crowd only stared at him in all the more perplexity then.
“I haven’t, for one,” said Texas.
Mark gazed at him quizzically.
“I must say you’re very dull,” he said. “I expected better things from
my old chum. See here, I’ll explain it for you.”
Mark sat down again, after executing another delighted fandango. Then
he sat and eyed his companions.
“I’ll help you to guess what I mean,” said he, smiling. “’Listen, my
children, and you shall hear.’ Pay attention, and no peeking on your
neighbor’s slates.”
“Go on!” growled Texas, who was somewhat piqued at not having seen the
mysterious joke. “Go on an’ quit yo’ foolin’.”
“All right,” laughed Mark, “You said I looked like Allen, didn’t you?”
“Yes; what about it?”
“I’d look a good deal more like him if I had his uniform on, wouldn’t
I?”
“Yes; but――――”
“And more yet if it was at night?”
“Of course. But what――――”
“Oh, pshaw!” cried Mark. “How much longer must I wait? Do you want me
to tell you the whole thing? Look here! Suppose you were off in the
woods, eating a supper, beyond limits at night, and should meet with a
blue-uniformed officer who looked like the dreaded Lieutenant
Allen――would you run?”
The six “idiots” saw it then!
With one whoop of joy that fairly shook the camp they had leaped to
their feet and made a spring for Mark; after that you would have
called them idiots no longer, but ordinary maniacs. For they were
dancing about, laughing, hurrahing, slapping each other on the back,
rolling on the ground for joy. They had the plot at last! They were
going to masquerade as officers and fool those yearlings! There never
were seven such hysterical plebes since the founding of Rome, when
“plebes” first began to exist.
They were incoherent and breathless for at least ten minutes after
Mark’s revelation. At last, however, Texas managed to gasp:
“Where are you going to get a blue uniform――like Allen’s?”
And Mark, equally out of breath, managed to answer:
“I’ll take his!”
“His! For Heaven’s sake, how?”
“Run off with it! He never uses it at night!”
And then there were more hysterics.