And “Ha, ha!” howled the Harvard hellions.

“Thought you were lost, didn’tcha?”

“Gosh, you looked funny!”

“Your face! — — ”

Florian stared at them. He did not smile. He went quietly over to his tiny camp-fire and stamped it out, neatly, as he had been taught to do. He took his can of emergency ration (not to be opened except on command of officer) and hurled it far, far down the mountainside. Jessie Heath laughed, contemptuously. And Florian, looking at her, didn’t care. Didn’t care. Didn’t care.

The nightmare was over in August. Over, that is, for Florian. The rest were to do another four weeks