"You'll pardon us, won't you?" smiled Dick pleasantly, as he turned to go back into his quarters. "You will realize, as we do, that the first discussion of the matter should take place before the commanding officer." Greg followed his chum in. "Oh it's nothing," they heard Captain Cartwright assure the others. "It ought to blow over, and I hope it will. A certain officer took what I thought too much liberty with me, and when I resented it his friend took a hand in the matter. I hope we can set it all straight before Colonel Cleaves." Behind the closed door, hearing what was said, Prescott turned on his friend with eyebrows significantly raised. Greg nodded. No word was spoken. Apparently Captain Cartwright also went to his quarters, for the steps of many sounded outside, and then all was still. Prescott had picked up a book and was reading. Greg walked over to the window and stood looking out into the sun-baked company street. "I must go over to company office for an hour or so," announced Captain Dick, glancing at his wrist watch and laying down his book at last. "After that I'll go out and see how the platoon commanders are getting along with their new work. I hear that we're to have some drafts of new men to-morrow." "Yes," Greg nodded. "Recruits from Chicago, and also from Boston. Some day we may hope to have our companies filled up to full strength." "Small chance to get over to France until our companies are filled," Prescott smiled, as he stood up, looked himself over and started for the door. Captain Greg Holmes followed at his heels. No word was spoken of the recent trouble with Cartwright, not even when they crossed the road below and started for their respective company offices. Paper work engrossed Prescott's attention for an hour or so. During this time he occasionally glanced up to note what was taking place beyond the window in front of his desk. His four second lieutenants were in command of the platoons to-day, instead of sergeants. The young officers were instructing their men in the first essentials of bayonet combat. The last piece of paper disposed of, Prescott at last arose, stretched slightly, then strode out of the office to the drill ground. He was just in time to hear one of his lieutenants explaining to a line of men: "When pursuing a retreating enemy one of the most effective thrusts with the bayonet can be delivered right here. Learn to mark the spot well." Half-turning, the lieutenant pointed to the spot in the small of his own back, before he went on, impressively: