On their way to New York Prescott and Holmes had discovered, by taking mental notes of the other male passengers on the train, that these two Gridley boys had missed something from the most correct styles then prevailing in the larger cities.
Dick and Greg were both solidly and substantially attired, yet there was an indefinable something about them which proclaimed them to be young men from one of the smaller cities of the United States.
"I can see those medical big-wigs pawing me over now," shivered Greg.

"I suppose, at a place as wonderful and as learned as West Point, the doctors are all fussy old men, with their gold-rimmed spectacles and shiny frock coats." "Wait and see," advised Dick, trying to get a grip on himself to control his nervousness.
Another door opened, to admit a dandified and very smart-looking young officer, apparently about twenty-five years of age.
"You're all ready, young gentlemen ?" he asked smilingly.
"We're waiting for the doctor," replied Greg, who was close to the door by which the officer had entered.
"I am one of the surgeons," replied the young officer pleasantly.
"Gee whiz!" remarked one raw-boned youth, in what was meant to be a confidential whisper, but which rose to a pitch that carried it around the room.

"Say, he doesn't look much like our old saw-bones doc down home way!" The surgeon was followed by a smart-looking soldier of the hospital corps, who started to close the shades of the room.
"You have all been to the treasurer's office and deposited your funds ?" asked the young surgeon, turning again.

This time his question appeared to be addressed to Dick more particularly than to anyone else.
"Why, no, sir," Prescott replied.

"I have all my money in my pocket yet." "Orderly!" spoke the surgeon to his own man of the hospital corps, who wheeled, brought his heels together and stood at attention.
"Bring in that orderly who conducted the young gentlemen here." "Yes, sir," replied the hospital orderly, wheeling about and vanishing from the room.