Brief description:
THAT’S funny,” whispered Thurston Stone, as he stood on the only chair in a tent at the West Point summer camp and hesitated in the act of drawing on his stiff, white-starched, cadet trousers.
“What’s funny?” asked Bill Holliday with an irritated sigh. “Listen, Pebble Stone, if you don’t get off that chair pretty soon, there’s going to be some—thing a lot funnier around here. Maybe somebody
else wants to put on his pants.
”“Me, for instance,” chimed in Peter Wentworth.
“Have a heart, Pebble.”
For answer, Pebble Stone withdrew the one leg he had already thrust into his pants and flashed his two tent mates a severe glance. “Big things are happening in this tent, and you two don’t even see it.”
“See what?” Wentworth asked. “Anything to get you off that chair". Pebble nodded his head toward the opposite side of the tent where sat “Colonel” Dick Calhoun.
Wentworth and Holliday nodded soberly. They knew as well as Stone that Dick Calhoun was the model of all West Point cadets. Number Three in his class in academics, Eastern Intercollegiate gym champion, and number one in his class in discipline! You could have hidden all of Calhoun’s demerits beneath a small dress-coat button. He was always and forever shining up his equipment. The perfect soldier. And now, to see Calhoun surrounded by his shining materials, yet not shining! Wentworth blinked, incredulously. Holliday stared, entranced, as Pebble Stone jumped down from the chair and bounded over the floor to Calhoun’s side.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, abruptly.
Calhoun looked up and chuckled. “Nothing,” he said, “just drawing.”
Dick Calhoun was certainly out of sorts and had been ever since a fall from a high trapeze had left him with broken ribs and a month in the post infirmary. There was a hop tonight in Cullum Hall which most cadets were eager to attend, but not Dick. He was intent on taking "French Leave"
making an unauthorized exit from the encampment for a cooling swim in Delafield Pond. When his three tent mates left for the hop, Dick stealthily sneaked past the sentries and ascended past officer homes to Delafield Pond. He removed his shoes....and the something totally unexpect occurred.....
“What’s funny?” asked Bill Holliday with an irritated sigh. “Listen, Pebble Stone, if you don’t get off that chair pretty soon, there’s going to be some—thing a lot funnier around here. Maybe somebody
else wants to put on his pants.
”“Me, for instance,” chimed in Peter Wentworth.
“Have a heart, Pebble.”
For answer, Pebble Stone withdrew the one leg he had already thrust into his pants and flashed his two tent mates a severe glance. “Big things are happening in this tent, and you two don’t even see it.”
“See what?” Wentworth asked. “Anything to get you off that chair". Pebble nodded his head toward the opposite side of the tent where sat “Colonel” Dick Calhoun.
Wentworth and Holliday nodded soberly. They knew as well as Stone that Dick Calhoun was the model of all West Point cadets. Number Three in his class in academics, Eastern Intercollegiate gym champion, and number one in his class in discipline! You could have hidden all of Calhoun’s demerits beneath a small dress-coat button. He was always and forever shining up his equipment. The perfect soldier. And now, to see Calhoun surrounded by his shining materials, yet not shining! Wentworth blinked, incredulously. Holliday stared, entranced, as Pebble Stone jumped down from the chair and bounded over the floor to Calhoun’s side.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, abruptly.
Calhoun looked up and chuckled. “Nothing,” he said, “just drawing.”
Dick Calhoun was certainly out of sorts and had been ever since a fall from a high trapeze had left him with broken ribs and a month in the post infirmary. There was a hop tonight in Cullum Hall which most cadets were eager to attend, but not Dick. He was intent on taking "French Leave"
making an unauthorized exit from the encampment for a cooling swim in Delafield Pond. When his three tent mates left for the hop, Dick stealthily sneaked past the sentries and ascended past officer homes to Delafield Pond. He removed his shoes....and the something totally unexpect occurred.....
Publication
American Boy Magazine, April 1936 Vol 110, #4