Better leave it to the fellows who are tired of being at West Point," advised Dick quietly.
"Oh, what a debt I owe you, old ramrod!" cried Greg fervently.
"Not a shadow of a debt, Greg.

You'd have done just the same thing for me." "Yes, if I could have been quick enough to think of it.

But I probably wouldn't have figured it out as swiftly as you did." "Yes, you would," Dick retorted grimly, "for it was the only way.
What's that bulging out the front of your coat, Greg ?" "The cord," Greg confessed, with a sheepish grin.
"Better get rid of it right where you are.

Even a fishline is rope enough to hang a cadet when he gets into trouble too close to the reveille gun." Greg had barely tossed away the coil of cord when----- Bang! bang! bang! Bang! bang! BANG! The fusillade ripped out within a hundred yards of where they now stood.
Dick and Greg halted in amazement.

They did not start, or jump, for the soldier habit was too firmly fixed with them.