Bob and Jimmy next interviewed, the quartette dressed with noiseless speed. Directly after first call they gathered about Ignace, who in an undertone regaled them with an account of the fight. "Now listen to me, Iggy," counseled Bob in low, guarded tones. "When you get on the carpet before the K. O. you tell him just what you told us and stick to it. Don't you let Bixton put it over you. Naturally he'll try it. It'll be your word against his." "Too bad somebody else didn't see him at his dirty work," muttered Jimmy. "Wish we hadn't gone off to Tremont. Then this wouldn't have happened." "What you should have done, Ignace, was just to hold onto him and raise an alarm." Roger's face indicated troubled sympathy. "So think I," protested Ignace. "Get up quick an' try. Him no think I am the wake. Jus' I catch, him yell; hit me the nose. Then am I the mad. Hit too; ver' strong poonch. So is it the fight." "So is it," commented Bob grimly. "You're in for it, Iggy. All you can do is to speak your little piece, and take your medicine like a lamb. You're in the Army now. Oh, boy!" The rueful intonation of this last brought the flicker of a smile to three very gloomy faces. "Break away!" warned Jimmy _sotto-voce_, as he sighted Sergeant Dexter bearing down upon them. As Roger had feared, the sergeant was on the trail of the belligerents, neither of whom were to be allowed to mingle with their comrades, pending the action of the commanding officer, to whom he had already sent a written report of the disturbance. Following one o'clock Assembly that day, came the dread summons that saw both Ignace and Bixton dropped out of ranks and marched off to headquarters under guard, there to give an account of themselves to that awe-inspiring person, the K. O., which is Army vernacular for the commanding officer. It was a highly uncomfortable moment for both when they were brought into the presence of a most austere-faced commandant, whose penetrating blue eyes pierced them through and through, as they came to attention before his desk. With him was Sergeant Dexter, who eyed the two with an expression of profound disgust. The sergeant was feeling decidedly sore over the whole affair. It put him in an unpleasant light. Having stared the culprits fairly out of countenance, Major Stearns proceeded, with due deliberation, to pick up the report from his desk, reading it aloud in a dry, hard tone that fully indicated his great displeasure. "This is a full report of what occurred last night?" he asked, turning to Sergeant Dexter. "It is, sir," replied the sergeant, saluting. "What's your name? What have you to say for yourself?" he next rapped out severely, addressing Bixton. The man's left eye showed all too plainly the result of that scrimmage in the dark.