He threw himself down on a mattress, and was soon asleep.
But in the morning he had to go through the ordeal ten-fold.

As Dick went to his tent to change some articles of clothing Bert Dodge appeared in the company street.
"Hey, mister," called yearling Davis, after Bert, "I hear good news.
Last night the guard caught the chap who shanghaied you." Even Greg and Anstey were prepared to quiz the "hero" of the comic episode of the night before.
"That was a fine comic opera performance, old chap," grinned Anstey.
"The next time you arrest a lay figure," suggested Greg, "at least be good enough to capture one that's stuffed with lemons." "Oh, the straw figure was a lemon, of a kind," laughed the Virginian.
"Did the prisoner yell when you pricked point of your bayonet in its flesh of husks ?" Greg wanted to know.
"Do you expect the K.C.to mention you in orders for distinguished gallantry ?" demanded Anstey.
"Or to skin you on a suspicion of stealing straw from the artillery stables ?" snickered Greg.
"I know one funny thing about straw, anyway," declared Anstey, turning around to Holmes.
"What ?" asked Greg.
"It's bound to tickle you," declared the Virginian gravely.
Even at breakfast, in the cadet mess, Dick failed to get away from his tormentors.

One of the yearlings, seated at a table not far from the one at which Prescott sat, called out to a classmate: "Queer thing about that prisoner bagged on number three last night.

Did you hear who the prisoner turned out to be ?" "No-o-o," drawled the other yearling, while a hundred pairs of eyes were turned on flame-faced Prescott.
"It was the class president of the beasts" (plebes).
"Kind of tough fate for the prisoner, though," railed another.
"What's that ?" "He's been sentenced to death.

He is to be used as a target for the plebe squads in target practice." "That isn't a sentence of death; it's a guarantee of safety." This last sally turned the laugh on the entire plebe class.