Don Gordon's Shooting-Box. Castlemon Harry

cold, wasn’t it?” said Clarence. “Well, we didn’t haze him, and, as Tom says, we are all glad of it. But, I say, you make nobby-looking soldiers, you two. Did you get in last night all right?”

      “We got in twice,” answered Don, ruefully. “We got inside the grounds, and we got into trouble.”

      “How was that? Didn’t you have a pass?”

      “Yes; but it was only good until half-past nine, and we stayed out until half-past ten.”

      “Oh! ah. Well, that’s nothing when you get used to it, is it, Fisher?” said Clarence.

      “Nothing at all,” replied Tom. “It has been a very common thing with me, and now I never think of asking for a pass. I go when I please and come back when I feel like it.”

      “What do you suppose they will do with us?” asked Bert, who was anxious to have that point settled as soon as possible.

      “Let me see,” said Clarence, thoughtfully. “Who was officer of the day yesterday?”

      “I don’t know his name,” answered Don, “but he was the same one who instructs our class in mathematics, an old gentleman with gold spectacles, and a medal of some kind on his breast.”

      “Oh, that was Dutchy,” said Fisher, in a tone of contempt. “He’s our fencing-master also. Well, he will make the case against you as black as he can, and if he were the one to say how you should be punished, I tell you you would have a lively time of it, for he is a regular martinet. The President is a very strict disciplinarian, but he hasn’t yet forgotten that he was once a boy himself, and he will probably be easy with you.”

      “But what will he do?” insisted Bert. “That’s what Don and I want to know. And if he is going to punish us at all, why doesn’t he say so?”

      “Because the proper time has not yet arrived. Wait until dress-parade comes off to-night, and then you will find out all about it, for it will be published in general orders.”

      “Before the whole school?” cried Bert.

      “Of course,” answered Clarence.

      Bert grew very red in the face, and looked at Don, who, in turn, stared hard at Bert.

      “It is nothing to worry over,” said Fisher. “Some of the best fellows in school have been gated and made to walk extras on Saturday afternoons with packed knapsacks, and that is all the punishment you will receive.”

      “What do you mean by ‘gated’?” asked Don.

      “What is a ‘packed knapsack?” inquired Bert.

      “Why, when a fellow is gated he is confined inside the grounds, and not allowed to go out under any circumstances,” replied Clarence.

      “But he can go out all the same if he feels like it,” said Fisher, with a laugh. “I never knew a fellow to stay inside the grounds simply because he was gated, unless he was one of those milk and water boys who hadn’t spirit enough to say that his soul was his own.”

      “How can he get out?” asked Don.

      “He can run the guards. Clarence and I have done it many a time.”

      “Were you never caught at it?” inquired Bert.

      “Once or twice, but that was owing to our own carelessness. It is an easy thing to do when the right kind of fellows are on duty, and really exciting when the posts are held by such boys as Blake and Walker, and others of that sort. They’re a mean set. They are always on the watch for a chance to report somebody, because they believe that that is the way to gain the good-will of the teachers.”

      “And a packed knapsack,” continued Clarence, “is one with something heavy in it, such as bricks or paving-stones. When you are called upon to walk an extra, you have to pace up and down your beat for four hours with that knapsack on your back and a musket on your shoulder.”

      “That can’t be very pleasant,” observed Don.

      “Well, I am free to confess that it isn’t,” returned Clarence, “and it is all owing to the way the thing is managed. If they would let us perform the extra duty while the rest of the boys were drilling, or while the class in geometry was reciting, I should not mind it in the least. But you see they won’t do that. We have to work hard all the week, and walk our extras on Saturday afternoons during the hours that are given to the good little boys for cricket, ball-playing, fishing, target-shooting and recreations of that sort.”

      “But overstaying our time was not the only offence of which we were guilty last night,” said Don, after a moment’s pause. “When we reached our room we struck a light, and I suppose we shall be reported for that.”

      “Of course you will,” said Fisher. “You had no business to have a light in your room after taps.”

      “But we didn’t think,” said Bert. “And, besides, we wanted to read our pass, so that we might know just what we had done that was wrong.”

      “No odds,” exclaimed Clarence. “No excuse will be accepted. You will probably be gated for a month.”

      “But you need not submit to the restriction of your liberty unless you feel like it,” chimed in Fisher. “Do as all the best fellows in school do – run the guard, and have a good time in spite of the teachers.”

      “Oh, we’ll never do that,” said Bert, quickly. “Will we, Don? That would only make a bad matter worse.”

      Don looked down at the floor, but said nothing. He always grew restive under restraint, and having been allowed when at home to go and come as he pleased, he could not bear the thought of being confined within bounds. If Fisher and Duncan had known what he was thinking about just then, they would have said that the success of the plans they had formed the night before was a foregone conclusion.

      “Well, Gordon,” said Tom, at length, “everything is all square between us, I hope.”

      “Certainly it is, so far as I am concerned,” answered Don. “And I know that Arkwright does not bear you any ill-will, for he said so. You fellows ought to make matters straight with him, for he is true blue. He took a good deal of pains to work his way back to the attic without being seen, for he didn’t want the teachers to know what you had done.”

      “We’ll see him and have a talk with him,” said Tom, as he arose from the bed and picked up his cap. “Perhaps we had better go, Clarence. You know what will happen to us if we fail in our logic to-morrow. What do you think of the prospect?” he added, as soon as he and his crony had reached their own dormitory and closed the door behind them. “Will he bite?”

      “I am sure of it,” was Duncan’s confident reply. “He is a fellow who doesn’t like to be held with too tight a rein – I can see that plainly enough; but Bert is a different sort of boy.”

      “What do we care for Bert?” exclaimed Tom. “Don is the one we are after.”

      “I know that, and I know, too, that we could get him very easily if his brother were out of the way. These little spooneys sometimes exert a good deal of influence over their big brothers, and if he sets his face against us and our plans, our cake will be turned into dough in short order.”

      “We must see to it that Don doesn’t listen to him,” said Tom. “We have done all we can do to-day. We have given him an idea, and now we will let him chew on it for a while. We mustn’t appear to be too eager, you know, for if we give him the least reason to suspect that we are putting up a job on him, it is my opinion that he will prove an unpleasant fellow to have around.”

      As Fisher said this he picked up his logic, in which both he and Duncan had failed miserably that day, and read in a listless, indifferent tone —

      “What is true with limitations is frequently assumed to be true absolutely. Thus – ‘Deleterious drugs are always to be rejected; opium is a deleterious drug; therefore opium is always to be rejected.’ What’s wrong with that reasoning, Clarence?”

      “I don’t know and I don’t care,” answered