Chapter 38. Sport With A Plebe

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_ CHAPTER XXXVIII. SPORT WITH A PLEBE

"Merriwell----!"

Bascomb's face showed he was little pleased by the appearance of Frank.

"I believe you were about to tell Mr. Davis what you would do in case he declined to bring a bucket of water for you, sir," said the yearling with chevrons. "Pray, proceed!"

"This--this is an intrusion!" grated Bascomb.

"Really so?" And Frank's eyebrows were uplifted in mock surprise. "I presumed I would be welcome to the tent of a classmate."

"Well, you are not welcome here," growled the big fellow.

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing. If you haven't the instincts of a gentleman----"

Frank interrupted with a laugh.

"Really that sounds fine from your lips, Mr. Bascomb!" he exclaimed. "You were trying to intimidate one smaller and weaker than yourself a moment ago, and yet you have the nerve to talk of gentlemanly instincts. You seem to be venturing on unfamiliar grounds, sir."

Bascomb glared. He longed to punch Merriwell's head, but he felt that Frank was anxious for him to attempt a move of the sort.

"You're a nice chap to talk of intimidation when you have already forced Baby to fag for you!" he cried, hotly.

"I think Mr. Davis will attest that I neither forced him nor asked him to perform any task for me. I simply gave him a few instructions that were sure to be of material benefit to him. But I heard you demanding service, and seeking to compel it with threats. You know what the penalty is for such conduct."

"And I suppose you are just the kind of a fellow to blow. All right; go ahead."

"I scarcely like your tone or your language, Mr. Bascomb; but I am not going to pick it up here and now. However, you have accused me of making Mr. Davis a fag. I presume you know there is a rule in this school that no man has a right to demand service of another man's fag? Knowing this, you tried to make Mr. Davis perform your duties about the tent. Weren't you treading on rather dangerous ground, sir?"

Bascomb looked at the floor, and muttered something.

"You may not have realized what you were doing," Merriwell went on. "In which case, you are pardonable to a certain degree. But I warn you to let nothing of this kind occur again, or you will have the entire camp down on you."

"I know what you mean," grated Bascomb.

"I am very glad you do," came coolly from Frank's lips. "I hoped to make my meaning plain. And I have something more to say. Since the arrival of the new boys, you have seemed to single Mr. Davis out as an especial object for ridicule and torment. I don't know that you have done so because Mr. Davis is small and scarcely a match for you, but it looks that way. Now, Bascomb, if I were in your place, I would let up. If you persist, you are bound to get yourself into serious trouble. I am going to see that Davis has a fair show, and the fellow who crowds him too hard will have some difficulty with me."

Bascomb forced a mocking laugh.

"You seem to fancy you can set yourself up against the whole battalion," he sneered. "I don't believe any plebe ever got through this school without taking his medicine, and I scarcely think you will be able to pull this one through that way. The fellows are not very fond of pets."

"That's all right. The only thing I ask of you is that you let Davis alone."

"Perhaps I will, and perhaps I won't."

"You will if you know what is good for you."

Again the big fellow glared through the gathering darkness, but Frank met the gaze squarely, and Bascomb's eyes dropped.

"That's all I have to say," came quietly from Frank. "You may go now, Mr. Davis. Don't forget you are to receive instructions in making beds after you answer to your name at tattoo."

"No, sir, I will not forget," said the little plebe, and, making a salute, he hurried away, glad to escape from Bascomb's clutches.

Frank stood looking straight at his big classmate, who made a pretense of disregarding him.

"You should take warning by what has happened to several of your particular friends, Bascomb," he finally said. "Harkins resigned to escape court-martial and dismissal; Gage deserted and ran away, and Snell has become the most unpopular fellow in the academy, and all because----"

"All because they ran against you!" snarled Bascomb, madly. "You have had the greatest luck of any fellow I ever saw; but there is a turning point somewhere. You never miss an opportunity to jump on a fellow, and----"

"Now, you are making a statement that you know is absolutely false, sir!" exclaimed Merriwell. "I have never crowded any fellow, and I have never lost an opportunity to cover as far as possible and honorable any wrongdoing a fellow cadet may have been led into. You may not know that I could have caused Snell's expulsion in disgrace if I had wished, but it is true."

"Oh, you are very generous--exceedingly magnanimous! All the matter is, people don't know it."

"You are at liberty to think what you like about it. I have warned you, and you will do well to heed my warning. That is all I have to say."

Frank left the tent, and continued on his way.

Crowds of cadets gathered here and there near certain "plebe hotels" told where the yearlings were enjoying sport at the expense of the new boys.

As Frank came near to the first collection, the familiar voice of his former tentmate, Hans Dunnerwust, attracted his attention.

Forcing his way toward the center of the laughing throng, he found Hans catechising a tall, lank country boy named Ephraim Gallup, who was repeatedly forced to explain that he was "from Varmont, by gum," which expression seemed to delight the listening lads more and more with each repetition.

"Vere vos dot Varmont, sir?" demanded Hans, with a great show of dignity. "Vos it a cidy alretty yet, or vos it a village?"

"Oh, yer gol dern ignerent critter---- Er--er--excuse me, sir! I fergot whut I wuz sayin', dam my skin ef I didn't! Varmont is a State, an' one of ther smartest gol derned States in ther Union, by gum!"

"Vos dot so? I subbose you exbect dot Varmont vos peen large enough to be a cidy britty soon, ain'd id?"

"Wal, gol blame my eyes! Don't you know ther difference betwixt a State an' a city? Ef ye don't, I think you'd best go studdy yer jografry some more."

"Don'd ged so oxcited, sir," cautioned the Dutch boy, with a wave of one pudgy hand. "Id don'd peen goot your health for. Vos dot Varmont a broductive Sdate?"

"Productive! Wal, you bet yer last dollar! We kin raise more grass to ther square acre----"

"Vell, how apout hayseeds? You raise dose ub there py der quandity, I pelief me?"

"What makes ye think so?"

"Because your hair vos full of id."

"What's that? what's that?" cried Ephraim, in astonishment, quickly removing his cap and clawing through his hair with his fingers. "Hayseed in my hair? Darned if I believe it!"

The boys roared, and the face of the country lad grew crimson.

"You're havin' a gol derned pile of fun with me," he said, sheepishly. "Wal, sail right in an' have it. I kin stand it."

"Begobs! it's nivver a bit roight at all, at all," said a boy with a rich Irish brogue, and Barney Mulloy pushed his Dutch friend aside. "Av it's a soldier yure goin' to be, me b'y, it's instructions in military tictacks you nade. Now, sur, in case ye wur on guarrud at noight, an' should foind yure post invaded by the simultaneous appearance av the commandant an' corporal av th' guarrud on th' roight, the gineral-in-chafe an' staff on th' left, an' a rigimint av red-headed girrulls behindt yez, all wearin' bloomers an' arrumed to th' tathe wid corrun-brooms an' feather-dusthers, which would yez advance firrust wid th' countysoign?"

This sort of a question, put to a plebe with all sorts of twists and variations, was time-honored at Fardale, whither it had come from West Point, where plebes are puzzled with some variation of it year after year.

The country boy grinned a bit, and, still with his little fingers touching the seams of his trousers and the palms of his hands turned to the front, lifted his left foot and scratched his right shin with his heel, till a sharp rap on the ankle brought the foot down to the ground again, and caused him to brace up stiffly, drawling:

"Gol darned if I wouldn't be so scat I'd surrender on ther spot ter ther red-headed gals in bloomers."

These words do not look very humorous in print, but they sounded comical as they came from the mouth of that raw countryman, and the crowd roared with laughter again.

"Be me soul!" exclaimed Barney. "It's yersilf thot knows a hape more thin Oi thought yez did. Ye show yer good judgmint in surrunderin' to th' girruls, fer wan av thim alone wud capture yez av she set out to, an' ould Nick take th' countysoign--she wudn't nade it!"

Next the country lad was invited to sing, "to develop his vocal organs."

"Oh, say!" he awkwardly grinned. "I can't sing--I really can't, by gum!"

"Oh, you vos too modest alretty yet," declared Hans. "You peen goin' to ged ofer dot britty soon pime-by."

"But I hain't got no voice, an' I can't sing a tune no more than a mule kin."

"Me b'y," said Barney, "Oi admire yer modesty, but ye'll foind it necessary to sing fer th' intertainmint av Ould Gunn an' under professors av ye stay in th' academy, so ye moight as well begin now."

"You'll laff."

"Nivver moind that."

"It will sp'ile me so I can't sing. If I couldn't see ye laff I might do----"

"Dot vos all righdt," declared Hans. "You bet my life we been aple to feex dot britty soon right avay queek. Shust gif me your bocket handerkerchief."

"Whut you want of it?"

"Nefer you mindt dot. Shust gif me to id."

The country boy produced the handkerchief, and Hans quickly folded it in a thick strip about three inches wide.

"Now I feex id britty shlick so you don'd see us laugh oudt loudt," he said, as he quickly tied the handkerchief over the boy's eyes, while several of the others made Ephraim submit and stand with his little fingers still glued to the seams of his trousers.

In a few seconds the boy from Vermont was securely blindfolded.

"Now you sing dot song," commanded Hans.

"Whut shell I sing?"

"'Yankee Doodle,' begobs!" cried Barney. "It's patriotic songs Ould Gunn admoires."

"I can't git the tune," said Ephraim, "an' I don't know the words of only jest one varse."

"Well, sing pwhat yez know, an' kape repeating it over an' over till yez are told to stop."

"Dot vos der stuff. Let her go, Gallup!"

So the country lad opened his mouth and began to sing in a droning, drawling way:

"Yankee Dewdle came ter taown
'Long with Cap'n Goodwill,
An' there he saw the boys an' gals
As thick ez hasty poodin'."

"Louder!" commanded several voices.

So Ephraim repeated the stanza, singing still louder.

"Dot vos petter," complimented Hans; "bud id don'd peen loudt enough to blease Lieudenant Cordan."

"Louder! louder!" ordered the yearlings. "Open your mouth and let the sound out. You can never expect to sing if you pen the words up in such a cavern as that."

This time Ephraim shouted the words at the tops of his lungs, and he was complimented on all sides, while Barney Mulloy hastily said:

"Kape roight at it, an' kape on singing till ye're towld t' stop by me. Ye know my voice, an' don't ye moind another thot spakes to yez. Av he kapes bothering av ye, tell him to let ye alone, ur you'll kick th' back-strap av his trousers clane out through th' top av his head. Oi'll shtand by yez. Now, let her go again, an' kape at it."

The country boy began once more, and this time he bellowed the words so they could be heard for a mile.

The grinning yearlings lost no time in slipping quietly away from that locality, and taking positions at a distance, where they could watch what followed.

All alone in the street in front of his tent stood the blindfolded plebe, bellowing the words at the full capacity of his voice, and repeating them over and over.

In a very few seconds Lieutenant Gordan, the regular army officer at the academy, came marching briskly down the street in the dusk, his face so red that it almost seemed to glow like a light. Stopping short in front of the lone plebe, he called:

"Sir!"

Ephraim kept on with

"An' there he saw the boys an' gals
Ez thick ez hasty poodin'."

"Sir!" came sharply from the lieutenant.

Ephraim began the stanza over again, roaring it louder than before, if possible:

"Yankee Dewdle came to taown
'Long with Cap'n Goodwin----"

"Sir!" cried Lieutenant Gordan.

"Git aout!" snorted the boy from Vermont. "I'm here ter sing, an' I'm goin' ter fill ther bill, by gum!"

Then he began at the first of the stanza, and howled straight through it, for all that the lieutenant spoke to him twice.

In the dusky shadows not far away the cadets were convulsed with laughter they could not suppress.

"Sir!" thundered Lieutenant Gordan, "you are making a fool of yourself!"

"Ef you don't shut up an' stop interruptin' me, I'll be gol darned ef I don't kick you clean inter the middle uv next week! You ain't ther feller that sot me ter singin', fer your voice is of a diffrunt color than his. Naow you keep mum, ur I'll take this handkerchief off my eyes, spit on my hands, an' sail right into you, by thunder!"

Then Ephraim began once more:

"Yankee Dewdle came to taown
'Long with----"

The exasperated lieutenant snatched the handkerchief from Ephraim's eyes, almost bursting with rage.

"If you don't quit this howling, I'll lodge you in the guardhouse!" he declared.

The boy came near smashing the lieutenant with his fist, and then, seeing who it was, he gave a gasp and nearly fainted on the spot.

"Where's them fellers?" he murmured, looking around for his tormentors. "By gum! they've slipped! I've bin fooled!"

After giving him some sharp advice, the lieutenant sent him into his tent, and departed. _

Read next: Chapter 39. An Open Insult

Read previous: Chapter 37. "Baby"

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