“He took your advice, Jerry,” announced Ned, when he saw what Pug Kennedy had done. “Glad he did. He might have been a little more polite about it, though. I wish he was in some other squad, but I suppose there’s no use trying to graft him somewhere else. We’ll just have to make the best of him.” “Or the worst,” added Bob. In their new uniforms the recruits went through the drill, and it could not be denied that now there was a little more snap to it. It was more inspiring to see men all dressed alike doing something in unison than to watch the same company going through motions, one in a brown suit, another in a green and a third in a blue. The drill was hard, and it never seemed to end. When one stopped, there was only a brief rest period, and then came another. But it was necessary, and the boys were beginning to feel that. “I wonder what the folks at home would think if they could see us now?” asked Ned, as their respite came. “Well, I guess they wouldn’t be ashamed of us,” replied Jerry. “I should say not!” declared Bob, smoothing out some imaginary wrinkles. “I think we look all to the mustard!” “Or cheese!” chuckled Ned. “Come on--there goes mess call,” he added, for it was noon, and time for dinner. As it was Friday there was chowder as the main dish. There were fried fish, candied sweet potatoes, green peas, fruit pudding, mustard pickles, bread and coffee. It was a plentiful meal, and several made a trip to the kitchen for a second helping. Bob was one of these, and it was when he was walking back to his place at the long table that something happened which nearly caused considerable trouble. Bob was carrying his filled plate in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other, when, as he passed the bench where Pug Kennedy was sitting, some one bumped into the stout lad, jostling his arm, and the coffee--or part of it--went down Pug’s back. Up the bully sprang with a howl, though the coffee was not hot enough to burn him. “Who did that?” he demanded, wrathfully. There was no need to answer. The attitude of Bob, standing directly back of Pug, with the half-emptied cup in his hand and the queer look on his face, told more plainly than words that he was the guilty one. “Oh, so it’s you again, is it, you sneak!” and Pug fairly snarled the words. “What do you mean?” demanded Bob, justly angry. “I mean that you’re trying to make trouble for me again--like the time when you accused me of stealing your crullers. You’re trying to spoil my uniform so I’ll get a call-down. I’ll fix you for this!” “It was an accident,” insisted Bob. “Some one ran against me, and----” “Accident my eye!” sneered Pug. “I’ll accident you! I’ll punch you good and proper, that’s what I’ll do!” he yelled, and he leaped back over the bench-seat and advanced toward Bob who stepped back. A fight was imminent. CHAPTER XVII A MIDNIGHT MEETING