But who are the grave-looking officials in blue uniforms? The question is not long unanswered. The new cadets are lined up along three sides of a square. The National colors and the Corps colors are brought to the center. The Notary Public, in the presence of the Superintendent and his staff, reads the oath of allegiance to the assembled new body, who with right hands raised toward Heaven, swear their fealty to the United States. The ceremony is simple, but to the plebe tremendously impressive. When he agrees to give four years’ service to the Government after graduation, he feels as if he is signing away his life. There is no cloud without its silver lining. To Mr. Ducrot’s great joy, the chief Man of Wrath commands: “New cadets will immediately take a bath.” For the first time since reporting he enjoys a little relaxation, splashing around under the showers, where occur stolen confidences when the instructors are busy elsewhere. A refreshed feeling creeps over Mr. Ducrot and he double times back to his room to await the inspection of his shoes and feet. Pretty soon, in pops the officer in charge with tapes and foot sticks for taking the measure of shoes. Alas, no pointed toes or English lasts are allowed:--all cadets must wear a sensible military shoe. Regularly, are Mr. Ducrot’s feet inspected during his first few weeks to remedy ill-fitting shoes and prevent cases of soreness. Years ago in the days of hazing, a vastly different sort of inspection of feet occurred. This was an unofficial inspection of the plebe’s feet by upper-classmen. In the middle of the night when the tired plebe was snoring away, dreaming of being late to a formation and pursued by raging demons, he was suddenly awakened by a hollow voice in his tent, commanding: “Inspec-shun! Feet,” the “feet” said crisply and emphatically. Without delay Mr. Ducrot sticks his bare feet out for the inspection of the midnight prowler. He then, by order, opens his toes into the intervals of which the gloating upper-classman poured melted candle grease, thereby ending the inspection. At eight-thirty in the evening, Mr. Ducrot, wearily but joyfully, makes down his bed that has remained folded all day long. At last, he is to have a rest, blessed sleep is in sight. At nine o’clock the orderly in front of the Guardhouse beats three taps on his drum and simultaneously the cry: “Lights out!” echoes through the halls of the divisions. Immediately the barracks are plunged into darkness and silence. Only the tread of the cadet officer doing his half-hour patrol in the Area, disturbs the stillness of the night.