"That's all right, Milesy. Come in and rest yourself. You won't
mind if I keep flat, will you?

"Not in training for sick report?" asked Furlong, glancing down
solicitously. But he saw the glow of robust health glowing through
the deep coat of tan on Prescott's face.

"My appetite doesn't resemble sick report," laughed Dick. "But,
while you don't really look ill, Milesy, it's very plain that
you have something serious on your mind. Out with it!

"I guess that will make me feel better," assented Furlong, with
a sigh. "It's all that little plebe beast, Mr. Briggs."

"Surely he hasn't been hazing you?" inquired Prescott, opening
his eyes very wide.

"No, no; not just that, old ramrod," replied Furlong. "But Mr.
Briggs is proving a huge disappointment to me. I've done my best
to make a meek and lowly cub of him, but he won't consent to fill
his place. Now, that little beast made a good enough get away
with his studies during the three months before camp. He mastered
all the work of the soldier in ranks. At bottoms Mr. Briggs is
really a very good little boy soldier. But he's so abominably
and incurably fresh that he should have gone to Annapolis, where
there's always some salt in the breeze.

"What has Mr. Briggs been doing now?" asked Dick with interest.

"What doesn't Mr. Briggs do?" sighed Furlong mournfully. "Instead