"Has any one seen Grit?" asked the successful captain, as he and some chums were strolling over the parade ground, after they had left their rifles in the armory racks.
"Here he comes now," remarked Paul Drew. "They had to keep him double chained, I guess, or he'd have nipped the legs of the entire faculty in case the medal hadn't gone to Company B."
"Hi, Grit, old boy!" cried Dick, and a handsome bulldog—that is, handsome as bulldogs go—leaped upon the youth, and wagged his stump of a tail so violently that it was a wonder it was not dislocated, while, at every word from his master, the animal grew so demonstrative that finally, in the excess of joy, he finally rolled over and over on the grass, whoofing out the words he could not speak.
The throng of cadets separated, as the various members of the little party started for their rooms, to get off the tight dress uniforms, and don fatigue suits.
"I say, will you fellows come around to-night?" asked Dick.
"Sure! What for?" asked Paul.
"I'm going to have a little spread in honor of our fellows getting the medal."
"What a thing it is to be a millionaire!" exclaimed Perkins with a mock sigh.
"Oh, cut it out," advised Dick good-naturedly, for he disliked any reference to his wealth, which, at times, was a handicap rather than a help.
