With a swelling heart Rig stepped briskly up to the shining row of guns, where not an inch nor a line was out of the most spick-and-span state of military precision, and hung the white pendant on a glittering point of steel. And as he turned--alas! he was tapped on the shoulder and marched off to the guard tent "for tampering with the arms." "I shouldn't have minded that so much," he said afterwards to Magnus, "if I hadn't been such a double-distilled fool. And I'm not a fool really, you know,--but I'm not 'a gem of purest ray serene,' either. And I just lost my head with being told I was." Plenty of that sort of sport (to give it its common name) went on in Camp Hard, and even the most patient men grew tired of it, and the most good-natured got cross. It is monotonous when all the fun goes to somebody else. Even the straight shoulders sometimes rebelled against the perpetual bracing up; and many a poor fourth classman wished that his grey trousers had no side seam which could serve as a landmark to his weary thumbs: for in those days "finning out" was in full force. But indeed it was sometimes hard to take even what the law allowed. A strict order had been published that no cadet should ask a pleb to perform any menial service, but when Corporal Main remarked, "Mr. Stone, there are some very dusty shoes in my tent,"--no more was needed. Stone was just come in from drill, and ached in every inch; but he went at the shoes, and cleaned and rubbed and polished for dear life, while Corporal Main strolled off with Miss Flyaway, and told her the story. Again, another humane order was read out one day in the Mess Hall, to the effect that in that place of supposed relaxation plebs need not "brace," but might sit and stand "at will." But the minute the reader's back was turned Cadet Prank drawled out: "Boys, hadn't you all a great deal _rather_ brace up?" And so many hurriedly answered, "Yes, sir!" that the contrary noes were never counted. That was the way of it; and by dint of being laughed at and pointed at; drilled, straightened, pulled into shape, and called "beasts," the fourth classmen began to feel as if in truth the name fitted. They huddled together in corners, talked in whispers, and told endless stories of home. IX CAMP HARD _Marcus Antonius._ Cæsar dear, is there no way this troubling my dear little plebeian sentinels can be stopped? _Cæsar._ There probably is, but we have not found it yet. --_Colour Line Tragedy of 1890._ Nor yet. And so, year by year, for a time, the new fourth classmen worked out pretty fairly Lowell's lines: "Mis'ble as roosters in a rain, Heads down, and tails half-mast." Magnus Kindred was speeding along through camp one morning, thinking of home, when he was hailed by an upper classman. "See here, beast, what's your name?" Magnus made answer, with what composure of face and voice he could call up at such short notice.