style="font-size:15px;"> Captain Jack Rover, assisted by Lieutenant Fred Rover and his other officers, was drilling Company C in a corner of the gymnasium of Colby Hall. It was two days after the adventure on the Rick Rack River, and it was still raining, so that drilling in the open was almost out of the question.
The four cadets who had taken part in the rescue of John Franklin and his son Phil had explained the situation to Captain Dale on their return to the school and had been warmly praised by that old West Point military man for their bravery.
It may be mentioned here that Captain Dale had been in charge of the school since Colonel Colby had volunteered for the war and gone to France to fight.
Many of the cadets hated the rain and hoped it would soon clear. They loved drilling in the open far more than when held indoors, and they also wished to get at baseball and other Spring sports.
"It's a shame it doesn't let up," remarked Gif Garrison, after the drilling had come to an end and the rifles had been put away in their cases along the wall. Gif was a big youth, and the recognized head of many of the athletic sports.
"Well, we have to take such matters as they come," returned Spouter Powell, running his hand through his heavy brush of hair. "Were it not for the gentle rains, and the dews later on, the fields and slopes of the hills would not be clothed in the verdant green which all true lovers of nature so much admire. Instead we might have a bleak barrenness, a dissolution which would appall – "
"Gee, Spouter is at it again!" broke in Will Hendry, usually called Fatty by his chums because of his rotundity. Fatty was extremely good-natured, and as a consequence nearly every one admired him.
"Nothing gentle about this rain!" exclaimed Dan Soppinger, another cadet. "It's coming down in bucketfuls. Say, that puts me in mind – I've got an essay to write on moisture. Can any of you tell me why condensation takes place when – "
"Hurrah! the human question-box is once more with us," broke in Andy Rover. "Dan, I think you'd die if you couldn't ask questions."
"Humph! how is a fellow going to learn anything if he doesn't ask questions?" retorted Dan.
"You might walk around with a set of encyclopedias in your pocket," proposed Randy.
"That's it, Dan. Get a regular thirty-volume set while you are at it. You've got about thirty pockets in your suit, haven't you? You could put one in each pocket."
"I wish it would clear off to-morrow, at least enough to go to Haven Point," said Fred. "They have a dandy moving picture at Mr. Falstein's place."
"Oh, I know the piece you mean, Fred," cried Andy slyly. "It's entitled 'Meeting the Girls; or, The Great Conspiracy.'"
"Did the girls say they were going to see the pictures, Fred?" questioned Jack quickly.
"Mary telephoned that they might go," answered Fred. "That is, she said she and Martha might, and if they go probably some of the others will go too."
"Then we must get down to see the pictures by all means," answered Jack. "That is, if the storm lets up. If it keeps on raining I don't think any of them will show up."
"Let's go in for a little gymnastic work," cried Randy, and had soon shed his cap and his coat. He leaped up to one of the turning-bars, and was soon busily going through various gymnastic evolutions. His twin joined him, and then they did a little team work, much to the admiration of some of the others present.
"How about a swing from one bar to the next?" called out Ned Lowe. Ned was known as the chief singer of the school and was very handy with a mandolin.
"All right, Ned; I'll swing against you," called Andy quickly.
"Not much!" was Ned's ready reply. "I know you can beat me. See what you can do against Walt Baxter."
Walt Baxter was a clean-cut athletic youth who had made good in various contests in the gymnasium and on the baseball and football field. He was the son of Dan Baxter, who at one time had been a bitter enemy of the older Rovers. But the senior Baxter had reformed, and his son was well liked by the younger Rovers.
"All right, Walt," called out Andy. "Do you want to swing against me or against my brother Randy?"
"I'll swing against both of you," answered Walt pleasantly.
The details of the little contest were quickly arranged, and it was decided that Randy should make the first swing, Walt the second, and Andy should come last. The swing was to consist of a flying leap from one bar to the next, and then to a large pad spread beyond the second bar.
"One try only now, remember!" cried Dan Soppinger. "Do your best, everybody."
It did not take Randy long to get into position, and then he made a swing and a leap which were gracefulness itself. He landed on the pad lightly, but quite close to the second bar.
"I'm sure I can do better than that!" cried Walt Baxter; and in less than a minute he too had made the swing, landing half a foot beyond the mark set by Randy.
Andy eyed the distance carefully, and then prepared to make the swing.
"Here's where I do the flying-fish act!" he cried merrily.
"What's going on here? A contest? Let me see it!" came a voice from behind the crowd that had assembled to see the performance. Then Henry Stowell, a small cadet who was a good deal of a sneak, pushed his way to the front of the gathering.
"Hi, Codfish, what are you trying to do?" exclaimed Ned Lowe, who had been elbowed rather rudely by the small cadet.
"I want to see what's going on," cried Stowell.
"All right, Codfish, take it in for all you're worth," called out Fatty Hendry, and then put out his foot and pushed the sneak of the school forward.
It was a vigorous shove, and in order to keep himself from pitching headlong Henry Stowell took half a dozen quick steps forward. Andy was just in the act of launching himself from one bar to the next when Stowell's forward movement carried him to a point directly between the two bars. As a consequence Andy's feet struck the smaller cadet in the shoulder, and both went down in a heap on the floor.
"Stop! Stop! What are you trying to do – kill me?" yelled Stowell, as Andy came down on top of him in anything but a gentle fashion.
"I'd like to know what you are trying to do, Codfish?" demanded Andy, using a nickname for Stowell which the latter abhorred.
"I didn't do a thing! Fatty Hendry tried to trip me up."
"And you shoved your way in where you had no business to be," retorted Fatty. "Just the same, I'm sorry he got in your way, Andy," he added.
"Are either of you hurt?" questioned Jack quickly.
"He spoiled my jump," answered his cousin.
"And he kicked me in the shoulder and knocked me down," whined Stowell. "I've a good mind to report him."
"What! After all we did for you in the woods last Winter?" demanded Fred. They had found Stowell with Werner and Glutts and had rescued the little cadet from the bullies and seen him safe on his way home.
"I don't care! My shoulder hurts terribly," whined Stowell.
"Never mind, Codfish, we'll give you a mustard plaster to put on it," cried
