these sentiments to respond with three rousing cheers for Lieutenant Total Abstinence. Are you ready? Hip, hip——"

The chorus of approval rang out with no uncertain sound; it seemed to be unanimous, beyond a doubt. But Herbert noticed, glancing once around, that here and there some of the fellows expressed in their faces that they were not in accord with the prevailing opinion. They had in some way been adversely prejudiced; perhaps were the sons of saloon keepers, brewers or distillers; perhaps had come from homes where unthinking parents had admitted the stuff to sideboard and table.

Among these dissenters was one Martin Gaul, a dark-skinned son of foreign parentage. He was morose, stubborn, and much inclined to be quarrelsome. Almost upon first acquaintance he had shown a marked and exceedingly unjust antagonism toward Roy. With Herbert, on the other hand, he had an inclination to be unduly friendly, even to the extent of toadying. But Herbert, ever loyal to his chum, treated this with cold disdain or deserved sarcasm.

Returning from the town one Sunday evening, the two boys overtook three others in khaki walking slowly ahead of them. One was talking loudly, with much unnecessary laughter; the others were grumbling, evidently disposed to disagree about something; one surely had a very decided grouch.

Herb nudged Roy. "Gaul ahead there," he said, "and Phillips. I wonder that Billy mixes in with that chump. Who's the other fellow?"

"Not of Company H. Some other bad egg from another bit of the alphabet," Roy remarked. "Come on, let's steer a course to leeward of them; the sidewalk mebbe can stand it."

"No, let's hang back a minute; or cross the street. Gaul's in a mood, I take it, to start a quarrel with you. I think they've all been drinking."

But walk as slowly as they did, they could hardly help drawing nearer, and then suddenly Herbert, though having just counseled prudence in his friend, darted forward and seized an object held up between Gaul and young Billy Phillips. Too much of this passing had made the trio careless of discovery.

Phillips ducked and dodged clumsily, as though expecting seizure himself, but Gaul turned fiercely to confront Herbert, the half-emptied whisky bottle gripped in the latter's hand.

"Oh, you! Now that ain't a very nice trick to play on a fellow, unless you want a pull at it yourself. In that case you're most welcome, old top."

Herb did not reply to Gaul, but addressed Phillips: "Billy, you're a blamed fool to disobey orders in this way and go against common sense and decency. You know you're not that kind of a chap, in the first place. Time to cut it out."

Roy Flynn took a hand in the conversation.

"Birds of a feather do not always flock together, it would seem," he said. "At least, not in your case, Phillips. Evil associations gather no moss and a rolling stone corrupts good manners. You ought to know that, me lad."

"Are you meaning to sling any insults by that?" Gaul suddenly exploded. "Mebbe you want a slam on the jaw, which you're liable to get!"

"Never a bit! But I reckon you're electioneering to elect trouble."

"You can't make no trouble for me, you red-headed Mick! I think I'll just take a fall out o' you, anyway." Saying which Gaul advanced upon Roy.

"You're on, me lad," was Flynn's rejoinder.

CHAPTER IV

A Fight for the Right

"I want to warn you fellows," said Herb, stepping between the would-be combatants, "that this sort of thing is not what our officers would approve of. You have no reason to scrap, except a mutual dislike. Better agree to disagree. Shake hands and call it off."

"Shake? Not with that thing!" cried Gaul, and Roy vigorously shook his head. There was positive joy in the lad's face and voice.

"The only use I'll make o' me hands now is quite different," he laughed.

"Oh, well, then; go at it," said Herb, and in a low voice to Roy: "Get his wind first; then smash him."

The battle was short, sharp, and at first terrific on the part of Gaul. His style of fighting consisted in rapid rushes, swings and slams, if he could clinch, in the hope to conquer at once.

Roy, as quick on his feet as a cat, had no difficulty in avoiding his heavier opponent until the latter was partly winded; then suddenly Gaul got two awful whacks on the solar plexus that further deprived him of needed oxygen so that he staggered. In that instant's failure to come back Gaul got one big wallop, a right-handed, body-plunging swing fair on the side of his jaw and he was not even aware that the sidewalk flew up and all but embraced him.

Herb, Billy Phillips and the other fellow picked Gaul up and tried to stand him on his feet, Billy jocosely counting ten quite slowly. Gaul presently opened his eyes and used his legs, then sat down on the bank bordering the open lots. Roy was far aside, using his handkerchief to bind up his skinned knuckles. Then Herb spoke:

"We're not going to report you fellows; we're not squealers. But you know this boozing isn't a square deal; Billy, you know that, after what has been said to us. The stuff's no good. What real fun can you see in getting half soused and having everyone else wise to it? You ought to have more sense."

"Doggone it, Herb, I have, and I'm going to give it the go-by! Owe it to you fellows, too. Never again for me! I don't know about Gaul, but I don't think Williams here——"

He turned, but the said Williams was walking rapidly away and they took that for a pretty good sign, or at least shame for his act. Billy added:

"He's a good chap and you've got his goat. Bet he cuts the booze, too. How about you, Gaul?"

The fellow was himself now, but sore mentally and physically, and he made no reply. Phillips told him to come on, but he sat still, mumbling and thus they left him, Herb tossing the whisky bottle so that it smashed to pieces at Gaul's feet.

The next morning, after drill and practice, Herbert was much surprised and not a little bothered in mind to receive word from Corporal Grant of his squad that the captain wished to see Private Whitcomb. The boy surmised the reason and he did not wish to bear tales.

His worry was added to when Captain Leighton, saluting gravely, bade him follow and led the way across the street to headquarters. In a moment they stood before the commander's desk, and the general looked up with his customary cold stare, which suddenly changed to surprise.

"This man boozing——?" he began.

"No, no, sir! Quite the reverse. He broke it up. Private Phillips, and Williams, of Company D, are the ones who confessed that they went to town and got some liquor."

"Yes. Speak-easy. We have notified the authorities and they will arrest the parties; if not, we shall send a squad and raid all doubtful places. But——"

"This man Whitcomb, General——"

"Yes, I remember him."

"Well, he took their bottle away and smashed it and talked Phillips and Williams into good behavior. I get it also from Phillips that Private Flynn was in some kind of a fight over it, Flynn also being against booze, but I can't learn the name of the other fellow; possibly they don't know him."

"Know him, Whitcomb?" General Harding asked.

"Yes-es, I—do." Herb hesitated. "But I'd rather not name him, sir. Flynn licked him awfully and I have a notion he was pretty well punished and——"

"We ought to be the best judges of that. But no doubt you are right."