The members of the second class were away on the summer furlough, as Dick and Greg had been the summer before.
As the musicians began to tune up at the bandstand, most of the remaining cadets sauntered through the company streets on their way to get close to the music.
All cadets who passed through A company's street became suddenly silent when within ten paces of Dick's tent, and remained silent until ten paces beyond.
Dick's tent being at the head of the street, he was quite near enough to the music.

But he was not long in noting that both cadet escorts and cadets without young ladies took pains not to approach too close to where he sat.

It was enough to fill him with savage bitterness, though he still strove to be just to his classmates who had been blinded by Cadet Jordan's villainous scheme.
Of a sudden the band struck up its lively opening march.

Just at that moment Prescott became aware of the fact that Greg Holmes was lifting out a campstool and was placing it beside him.
"Well," announced Greg, "I've found out all there is behind the silence." "I took it for granted that was your purpose," Dick responded.
"Aren't you anxious to hear the news, old ramrod ?" "Yes; very." "I'm hanged if you look anxious!" muttered Greg, studying his chum's face keenly.
"I fancy I've got to display a good deal of skill in masking my feelings," smiled Dick wearily.
"Oh, I don't know," returned Cadet Holmes hopefully.

"It may not turn out to be so bad." "Then a permanent silence hasn't been imposed ?" "Not yet," replied Greg.
"By which, I suppose, you mean that the length of the silence has not yet been decided upon." "It hasn't," Greg declared.