Читать книгу A West Point Treasure; Or, Mark Mallory's Strange Find онлайн

4 страница из 48

“Yes,” growled one of the six listeners, a lad from Texas, with a curious cowboy accent. “Yes, hang it! But I reckon Wicks Merritt didn’t have any idea them ole cadets’d pile on to lick you all together. I tell you what, it gits me riled. Jes’ because you had the nerve to defy ’em and fight the feller that ordered you off that air hop floor, doggone ’em, they all had to pitch in and beat you.”

“Never mind, Texas,” laughed Mark, cheerfully. “They were welcome. I knocked out my man, which was what I went out for. And besides, we managed to outwit them in the end, leaving them deserted and scared to death on the opposite shore of the Hudson. You’ve heard of clouds with silver linings. I’m off duty and can play the gentleman all day, and not have to turn out and drill like you unfortunate plebes. And, moreover, nobody offers to haze me any more while I’m a cripple.”

“It’d be jes’ like ’em to,” growled Texas.

“That’s got nothing to do with the letter,” responded Mark. “There is some news in here that’ll interest you fellows, if Texas would only stop growling at the cadets long enough to give me a chance. Too much fighting is spoiling your gentle disposition, Texas.”