CHAPTER XIV. - A PLOT OF THE YEARLINGS."An invitation! Why, surely, man, you must be mistaken. They never invite plebes to the hops."
The speaker was Mark. He was sitting with a book in his hand beneath the shade trees at one side of the summer encampment of the corps. At that moment he was looking up from the book at Chauncey, who had just approached him.
"An invitation!" he repeated. "I can hardly believe it possible."
"Perhaps if you see it you'll believe it more readily, ye know," remarked the dudish cadet.
"Seeing's believing, they say," laughed Mark, taking it and glancing at the address. "Mr. Chauncey Van Renssalaer Mount-Bonsall," he read. "Yes, I guess that's for you. I don't believe there are two persons on earth with that name, or with one so altogether aristocratic and impr
