And, three days later, the motor boys, with a number of their friends from Cresville, and with others whom they did not know, including the unpleasant Pug Kennedy, were sent to Camp Dixton, there to be given a thorough training for their new life in the army. CHAPTER XIV SOMEWHAT DIFFERENT Out of the gray, chilly, and silent dawn came the sharp notes of a bugle. The sound echoed among the mist-enshrouded hills, the notes vibrating in and out among the trees, and then seemed to die away in the distance. But if any one of the several thousand prospective soldiers, sleeping the sleep of the more or less just in the tents of Camp Dixton, thought it was but a dream, those notes of the bugle, he was sadly, if not rudely, awakened when the sound came with greater insistence, as if calling over and over again: “Get up! Get up! You must get up!” “I say, Ned!” lazily called Bob from his bed amid the blankets on the ground under a khaki tent, “what day is it?” “What difference does that make?” asked Ned. “What time is it?” “You ought to know without asking, when you hear that _horn_,” grunted Jerry. “Horn? Bugle you mean,” came a voice from the other corner of the tent, if a conical tent, the shape used in the army, can be said to have “corners.” “Have it your own way,” assented Jerry. “I’m anxious to know what Bob meant by asking what day it was.” “If it’s only Sunday we’ll get a chance to rest,” explained the stout Chunky, peering out from under his blankets. For he and the others had wrapped up well, as the night had been chilly. “Chance to rest!” exclaimed Ned. “Say, we haven’t _done_ anything yet.” “Done anything!” challenged Bob. “Don’t you call that drill we went through yesterday anything?” “Just a little setting up exercise, and some marching to get you to know your hay foot from your straw foot,” commented the tall lad. “If you’re going to kick about that the second day in camp what will happen in about a week?” “Oh, I’m not kicking,” hastily said Bob. “In fact, I’m too lame and sore to kick. And my arm feels like a boil.” “Anti-typhus germs,” explained Ned. “You’ll be a whole lot worse before you’re better. We have to have two more injections, I understand.” The rousing notes of the bugle, “rousing” in a double sense, again sounded, and, not without considerable grumbling and growling, in which even Jerry, by the look on his face at least, seemed to join, the boys got up and prepared for another day in camp--their second. The young volunteers, with a lot of other recruits, had reached the camp ground the day before, but there was so much confusion, so many new arrivals, and such a general air of orderly disorder about the place, that the impressions Ned, Bob, and Jerry received were mixed.