It is work that takes every moment of the
cadet's time and attention, and incessant running in the hot sun.
Yet Prescott had, before this, chased the balk carriers, and
had not objected. He had taken up that task as he did all others,
as part of the day's work, something to be done speedily, well
and uncomplainingly.
"What's the matter with you, Mr. Jordan?" asked Dick in an undertone.
"Are you sick?"
"Sick of such emigrant's jobs as this!" growled Jordan. "What
made you give me-----"
"I can't discuss that with you," replied Cadet Dick Prescott coldly.
"I shall be compelled to make it an official matter, however, if you
hinder me any more."
"Lay hold! Raise! Shoulder! Forward!" Jordan ran with the squad.
"Halt! Lower!"
"I reckon Jordan means to keep really on the job now," murmured
Prescott to himself, and returned to the advancing end of the
pontoon as it crawled over the little arm of the Hudson.
Two more boats, however, and then Dick sprang sternly ashore.
"Mr. Anstey!" called Prescott, and Anstey, the sweet-tempered
Virginian, one of Dick's staunchest friends in the corps of cadets,
came quickly up, saluting.
"Mr. Anstey, you will chase the balk carriers," directed Dick.
"Please try to make up the time that has been lost. Mr. Jordan,
you are relieved from your duty, and will report yourself to the
instructor for gross lack of promptness in executing orders!"
There could be no mistaking the quality of the justly aroused
temper that lay behind Cadet Prescott's flashing blue eyes.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25