Ben had discovered a small spot of rust on the barrel of his rifle and he determined to remove it. So, after oiling and rubbing the leather parts of his equipment, he got a piece of emery paper from his locker and set to work. The only persons remaining in the stack-room at this time, besides himself, were Hal, who was busy cleaning his own rifle, and Chick, who was watching them both. Chick usually followed the enlisted men to the racks after drill, and helped them, so far as they cared to be helped, in disposing of their arms and accoutrements. He was looking on now at Hal, talking with him, making suggestions and comments, commending him for the excellence of his work. Of the two boys he liked Hal the better. For Hal was always kind to him, and very considerate, and treated him just as though he were already the bona fide enlisted man that he expected some day to be; while Ben, aside from directing him, on occasion, to perform some small service, was dignified and distant, and had little to say to him. So to-night, save for an occasional side glance, Chick was paying little attention to Private Barriscale. But when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ben, with his rifle resting across his knees, begin to rub the spot of rust on the barrel with a square of emery paper, the boy’s attention was instantly attracted, and his interest aroused. He looked on incredulously for a moment, then, apparently unable to restrain his criticism, he walked across the room to where Ben was sitting. “Excuse me!” he said, saluting as he approached, “but that ain’t no way to git rust spots off’n a rifle bar’l.” Private Barriscale looked up in amazement. He was not accustomed to being criticized by a company hanger-on, and, besides, things had not gone well at the drill, and he was not in a particularly genial mood. “What? What’s that you say?” he demanded sharply. “I say,” responded Chick, “as that ain’t no way to clean a rifle bar’l. You shouldn’t ever ought to clean a rifle bar’l with emery.” “What business is it of yours how I clean my rifle?” “Why, I s’pose ’tain’t none o’ my business. But I know ’t no one can’t clean his rifle bar’l with no emery paper, cause it’s ag’inst the rules.” “Well, when I want your advice I’ll tell you. In the meantime suppose you confine your admonitions to your friend across the room.” Chick was not angry nor resentful. He felt that he had done his duty by a new recruit. If his advice was not acceptable it was not his fault. “Excuse me!” he said. “I didn’t have no intention o’ buttin’ in. I just wanted you to know what I know about cleanin’ rifle bar’ls. I al’ays try to help the rookies out, best I kin.” Then, indeed, Ben’s wrath blazed up. To be called a “rookie” by this inconsequential camp-trotter was more than he could stand. He jumped to his feet and brought the butt of his rifle to the floor with a crash. “You leave this room!” he shouted. “You’ve no business here! You’re a meddler and a fool!”