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“I should say so,” sneered Lester, suddenly recalling some items of information that had come to him in a round-about way. “Don has been in a constant row with the teachers ever since he has been there.”

“That is not true. He got himself into trouble when he first entered the school, and lost his shoulder-straps by it; but he has toned down wonderfully under the influence of those three boys he brought home with him, and he is bound to make his mark before his four years’ course is completed.”

“But, father, do you know that the teachers are awful hard on the boys—that if a student looks out of the wrong corner of his eye, or breaks the smallest one of the thousand and more rules that he is expected to keep constantly in mind, he is punished for it?” asked Lester, who was almost ready to cry with vexation. It was bad enough, he told himself, to be sent away to any school against his will; but it was worse for his father to select a military academy, and then to hold that embodiment of mischief and rebellion, Don Gordon, up to him as an object worthy of emulation. Lester had no desire to learn the tactics, and he dreaded the discipline to which he knew he would be subjected.