CHAPTER III 

THE DOINGS OF A NIGHT 

As luck would have it, William Philander Tubbs just then occupied a tent alone, his two tent-mates being on guard duty for two hours as was the custom during encampment. 

The aristocratic cadet lay flat on his back, with his face and throat well exposed. 

"Now, be careful, Sam, or you'll wake him up," whispered Tom. 

One cadet held a candle, while Sam and Tom blackened the face of the sleeping victim of the joke. The burnt cork was in excellent condition and soon William Philander looked for all the world like a coal-black darkey. 

"Py chimanatics, he could go on der stage py a nigger minstrel company," was Hans Mueller's comment. 

"Makes almost a better nigger than he does a white man," said Tom, dryly. 

"Wait a minute till I fix up his coat for him," said Fred Garrison, and turned the garment inside out. 

A moment later all of the cadets withdrew, leaving the tent in total darkness. Then one stuck his head in through the flap. 

"Hi, there, Private Tubbs!" he called out. "Wake up!" 

"What--ah--what's the mattah?" drawled the aristocratic cadet, sleepily. 

"Captain Putnam wants you to report to him or to Mr. Strong at once," went on the cadet outside, in a heavy, assumed voice. 

"Wants me to report?" questioned Tubbs, sitting up in astonishment. 

"Yes, and at once. Hurry up, for it's very important." 

"Well, this is assuredly strange," murmured William Philander to himself. "Wonder what is up?" 
what did they do to his coat?
"Wait a minute till I fix up his coat for him," said Fred Garrison, and turned the garment inside out.