"Then we must stay until to-morrow afternoon; may we not, mother?" pleaded Laura.

"Yes; for I wish you to see the most of West Point and its famous spots."

"Then to-morrow afternoon you will be able, also, to see dress parade," Dick suggested.

"Do you forget that tomorrow is Sunday? asked Mrs. Bentley.

"No; we have dress parade on Sunday."

Mrs. Bentley looked puzzled. To her it seemed almost sacrilegious to parade on Sunday!

"Wait until you have seen our dress parade," Greg begged. "Then you will understand. It is really as impressive as a religious ceremony; it is the last honors of each day to our country's flag."

"Oh," murmured Mrs. Bentley, looking relieved.

By this time the little party had moved out on to the veranda.

"As there is no dress parade this afternoon," urged Dick, "may we not take you over, and let you see our camp from the outside. Then, after supper, we may, if you wish, take you to the camp for a look before going to the hop."

"As to supper," went on Mrs. Bentley, "you two young gentlemen must come to the hotel a take the meal with us. Wait; I will send word to the office that we shall have guests."

"If you do, you will give the clerk cause for a jolly smile," explained Prescott, smiling. "No cadet can possibly eat at the hotel. There are many regulations that will surprise you, Mrs. Bentley. I will explain as many as occur to me."

Prescott walked between Mrs. Bentley and Laura, while Greg came along with Belle just behind them.

"Are you taking me to the hop tonight, Mr. Holmes?" asked Belle with her usual directness.

Poor Greg, seasoned cadet though he was, flushed uncomfortably.

"I should be," stammered Greg, "but it happens that I am already engaged to drag—-to escort a young lady to tonight's hop."

"I like that word 'drag' better than 'escort'," laughed Belle.

"But Mr. Anstey, our tentmate, is to escort you tonight," Greg made haste to explain.

"That is the first I have heard of it," replied Belle, with an odd smile. "Does Mr. Anstey know about it, either?"

"Don't make fun of me," begged Holmes quickly. "Miss Meade, there are many customs here that are strange to outsiders. But they are very old customs."

"Some of them, I suppose," laughed Belle, "so old that they should be forgotten."

"All cadets are regarded as gentlemen," hurried on Greg. "Therefore, any cadet may be a suitable escort for a young woman. If one cadet has two young lady friends coming to the hop, for instance, he asks one of his comrades to escort one of his friends. Why, a cadet who, for any reason, finds himself unable to attend a hop, after he has invited a young lady, may arrange with anyone of his comrades to call for the young lady in his place."

"What if she should decline the unknown substitute who reported to fill the task?" teased Belle.

"It would betray her unfamiliarity with West Point," replied Greg, with more spirit than Belle had expected from this once very quiet young man. "Miss Meade, we look upon a our comrades here as gentlemen. We regard the man whom we may send in our place as being more worthy than ourselves. Isn't it natural, therefore, that we should expect the young lady to feel honored by the substitution in the way of escort?

"Wholly so," Belle admitted. "If I have said anything that sounded inconsiderate, or too light, you will forgive me, won't you, Mr. Holmes?"

"You haven't offended, and you couldn't," Greg replied courteously; "for I never take offence where none is meant, and you would be incapable of intending any."

The young people ahead were talking very quietly. Laura, indeed, did not wish to talk much. She was taken up with her study of the changed—-and improved—-Dick Prescott.

"Do you know, Dick," she asked finally, "I am more pleased over your coming to West Point than over anything else that could have happened to you."

"Why?" Dick asked.

"Because the life here has made such a rapid and fine change in you."

"You are sure it has made such a change?" Dick inquired.

"Yes; you were a manly boy in Gridley, but you are an actual man, now, and I am certain that the change has been made more quickly here than would have happened in any other life."

"One thing I can understand," pursued Laura. "The life here is one that is full of purpose. It must be. It takes purpose and downright hard work to change two young men as you and Greg have been changed."

By this time the little party was close to the west, or road side of the encampment.

"Isn't that Bert Dodge over there?" asked Laura, after gazing rather intently at a somewhat distant cadet.

"That is Mr. Dodge, Laura."

"Do you care to call him over to speak with us?" asked Mrs. Bentley.

"If you wish it," Dick responded evenly.

Laura looked at him quickly.

"Are you and Mr. Dodge no better friends here than at Gridley?" she asked in a low tone.

"Mr. Dodge and I are classmates, but we are thrown together very little," Dick replied quietly.

"I do not think we care about speaking with Mr. Dodge, do we, mother?" inquired Laura.

"There is no need to," replied Mrs. Bentley.

At that moment Bert Dodge espied the little party. After a short, but curious stare, Bert turned and came toward them.



CHAPTER VIII

CADET DODGE HEARS SOMETHING

It was an embarrassing position. So, at least, thought Laura Bentley.

"Let us walk on," she suggested, turning as though she had not seen Dodge.

"Humph!" muttered Dodge, turning his own course. "The girls are showing their backs to me. Humph! Not that I care about them particularly, but folks back in Gridley will be asking them if they saw me, and they'll answer that they didn't speak with me. There's no use in running into a snub, out here in the open. But it's easy! I'll stag it at the hop tonight, and I can get within range before they can signal me to keep away."

Smiling grimly, Dodge went to his tent.

After a while it was necessary for Dick and Greg to take their friends back to the hotel, for the cadets must be on hand punctually for supper formation.

"Mr. Anstey and I will call for you at 7:30, if we may," said Dick.

"We shall be ready," Laura promised. "And that we may not keep you waiting, we'll be down on the veranda."

And waiting they were. Dick and Anstey found Mrs. Bentley and the girls seated near the ladies' entrance.

Anstey, the personification of southern grace and courtesy, made his most impressive greetings to the ladies. His languid eyes took in Laura Bentley at a glance, almost, and he found her to be all that Prescott had described. Belle Meade won Anstey's quick approval, though nothing in his face betrayed the fact.

At first glance, it appeared that both girls were very simply attired in white, but they had spent days in planning the effects of their gowning. Everything about their gowning was most perfectly attuned. Above all, they looked what they were—-two sweet, wholesome, unaffected young women.

"We have time now for a short stroll to camp," proposed Prescott. "If you would like it, you can see how we live in summer. The camp is lighted, now."

So they strolled past the heads of the streets of the camp. At the guard tent, Dick and Anstey explained the routine of guard duty, in as far as it would be interesting to women. They touched, lightly, upon some of the pranks that are played against the cadet sentries.

Wherever Mrs. Bentley and the girls passed, cadet friends lifted their caps to the ladies with Prescott and Anstey, the salutes being punctiliously returned.

Bert Dodge was in a rage. He could not get so much as the courtesy of a bow from these girls whom he had known for years. He was being cut dead and he knew it, and the humiliation of the thing was more than he could well bear. A half hour later, he saw the party coming, and discreetly took himself out of sight.

"I can play my cards at the hop," he muttered.

The over to Cullum Hall, through the dark night, the little party strolled, one of many similar parties.

Once inside Cullum Hall, Prescott and Anstey, looking mightily like young copies of Mars in their splendid dress uniforms, conducted the ladies to seats at the side of the ballroom. Dick and Anstey next took the ladies' light wraps and went with them to the cloak room, after which they passed on to the coat room and checked their own caps.

Laura and Belle gazed about them with well-bred curiosity—-Mrs. Bentley, too—-at the other guests of the evening, who were arriving rapidly. The scene was one of animated life. It would have been hard to say whether the handsome gowns of the young ladies, or the cadet dress uniforms, gave more life and spirit to the scene.

As Prescott and Anstey returned across the ballroom floor the orchestra started a preliminary march. Both young cadets fell unconsciously in step close to the door, and came marching, side by side, soldierly—-perfect!

"What splendid, manly young fellows!" breathed Laura admiringly to Belle. Her mother, too, heard.

"Be careful, Laura," advised her mother, smilingly. "Don't lose your heart to a scrap of gray cloth and a brass button."

"Don't fear," smiled Miss Bentley happily. "When I lose my heart it shall be to a man! And how many of them we see here tonight mother!"

Nearly with the precision of a marching platoon the two young men halted before the ladies. Yet there was nothing of stiff formality about either Prescott or Anstey. They stood before their friends, chatting lightly.

"Tell us about some of the other hops that you have attended before," begged Belle Meade.

"But we haven't attended any," Dick replied. "Do you recall my promise in Gridley, Miss Bentley—-that I would invite you to my first hop as soon as I was eligible to attend one?"

"Yes," nodded Laura smilingly.

"This is my first hop," Dick said, smilingly.

"Mine, too," affirmed Anstey.

"Gracious!" laughed Belle merrily. "I hope you both know how to dance."

"We put in weary lessons as plebes, under the dancing master," laughed Dick.

"But you danced well in Gridley," protested Laura.

"Thank you. But the style is a bit different at West Point."

"You make me uneasy," pouted Belle.

"Then that uneasiness will vanish by the time you are half through with the first number."

"There comes Mr. Holmes," discovered Laura. "What a remarkably pretty girl with him."

"Mr. Griffin's sister," said Dick.

"Isn't that Mr. Dodge?" murmured Laura.

Dick only half turned, but his sidelong glance covered the doorway.

"Yes; he appears to be stagging it."

Bert presently disappeared. As a cadet always claims the first number or two with the young lady whom he has "dragged" hither, "staggers" have to wait until later in the programme.

Then, presently the music for the opening dance struck up. Dick had already presented Furlong, a "stagger," to Mrs. Bentley, so that she was not left alone. Furlong had asked the pleasure of a dance with Laura's mother, but Mrs. Bentley, with instinctive tact, realized that the older women did not often dance at cadet hops. So she begged Mr. Furlong to remain with her and tell her about the cadet hops.

As the music struck up, and Dick bent before her, he thrilled with the grace and unaffected friendliness with which Laura rose and rested one hand on his shoulder. She was a woman, and a magnificent one! Away they whirled, Anstey and Belle following.

"I greatly enjoyed the High School hops of former days," sighed Laura, "but this is finer."

"Same escort," murmured Dick.

"Same name, but in many ways much changed," laughed Miss Bentley. "Dick, I am so glad you came to West Point."

"So am I," he answered simply.

The first two numbers they danced together, then changed partners for the third dance. Between times, Greg had appeared with Miss Griffin and introductions had followed. Dick's fourth number was danced with Miss Griffin, while Anstey led her out for the fifth.

For that fifth dance Dick introduced one of his classmates to Laura, and, during that dance, Prescott stood and chatted with Mrs. Bentley. He saw to it that Laura's mother was very seldom without company through the evening.

The sixth dance Dick enjoyed with Laura.

"I had a reason for waiting and asking for this dance," he murmured in her ear.

"Yes?" challenged Laura.

"I discovered that it is the longest number on the programme. I would dearly love the next number, also, but I must not make the evening too dull and prosy for you. Will you trust me to select your partner for the next dance?"

"I am wholly in your hands," smiled Miss Bentley.

After Dick had conducted Laura to a seat beside her mother he stepped away to find Sennett, of the yearling class.

"Sennett," murmured Dick banteringly, "I have seen you casting eyes at Miss Bentley."

"I fear I must plead my guilt, old ramrod. Are you going to present me?"

"For the next dance. I think, if you are very much on your guard, Sennett, you will pass for enough of a gentleman for a few minutes."

"I'll call you out for that on Monday," retorted the other yearling, in mock wrath. "But, for the present, lead me over that I may prostrate myself at the feet of the femme."

So Dick stood beside Mrs. Bentley and watched Laura dance with one of the most popular fellows of the class. As Sennett and Laura returned to Mrs. Bentley, Cadet Dodge suddenly slipped up as though from nowhere.

"Miss Bentley," he murmured, bowing before Laura, after having greeted her mother, "I am presumptuous enough to trust that you remember me."

"Perfectly, Mr. Dodge," replied Laura in her even tones. "How do you do?"

She did not offer her hand; within the limits of perfectly good breeding it was her privilege to withhold it without slight or offence.

"How have you been since the old High School days?"

"Perfectly well, thank you."

"And you, Mrs. Bentley?" asked Dodge, again bowing before her mother.

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Dodge," replied Mrs. Bentley, who subtly took her cue from her daughter.

"Now, Miss Bentley, you are not going to leave a broken heart behind you at West Point?" urged Bert softly. "You are going to let me write my name on your dance card—-even if only once."

"You should have spoken earlier, Mr. Dodge," laughed Laura. "Every dance, if not already taken, is good as promised."

Yearling Dodge could not conceal his chagrin. At that moment Belle Meade returned with one of the tallest cadets on the floor.

Bert greeted her effusively. Belle returned the greeting as evenly and as perfectly as Laura had done—-but nothing more.

"Miss Meade, you are going to be tenderhearted enough to flatter me with one dance?" begged Dodge.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" replied Belle, in a tone of well-bred regret that carried with it nothing more than courtesy, "but I'm promised for every dance."

Cadets Prescott and Sennett had turned slightly aside. So had Belle's late partner. Dodge knew that they were laughing inwardly at his Waterloo. And Anstey and Greg, who stood by at this moment, appeared to be wearing inscrutable grins. Dodge made his adieus hurriedly, walking up the ballroom just ahead of Furlong, who also had observed. Bert felt sure so many of his comrades had seen and enjoyed his plight that his fury was at white heat as he stepped just outside the ballroom.

Furlong came after him, looking at him quizzically.

"We staggers have a hard time of it, eh, Dodge?" grinned Mr. Furlong.

"Are you referring to the two femmes I was just billing?" shot out Dodge impetuously. "Oh, they're very inconsequential girls!"

Mr. Furlong drew himself up very straight, his eyes flashing fire.

"You dog!" he exclaimed, in utter disgust.

Yearling Dodge turned ghastly white.

"You—-you didn't understand me. Let me explain," he urged.

"You can't explain a remark like yours," muttered Mr. Furlong over his shoulder, as he turned his back on Bert.

To be called a "dog" has but one sequence in cadet world. Bert Dodge had to send his seconds to Mr. Furlong before taps. Though they must have loathed their task, had they known the whole story, the seconds made arrangements with Mr. Furlong's representatives.

Before reveille the next morning Bert Dodge stood up for nearly two rounds before the sledgehammer fists of Mr. Furlong.

When it was over, Dodge sought cadet hospital, remaining there until Monday morning, and returning to camp looking somewhat the worse for wear.

Along with truth, honor and courtesy, tenderest chivalry toward woman is one of the fairest flowers of the West Point teaching.

Fellows like yearling Dodge cannot be taught. They can only be insulted to the fighting point, and then pummelled. Cadet Furlong went to considerable inconvenience, though uncomplainingly, for two young women whom he had not the pleasure of knowing.



CHAPTER IX

SPOONY FEMME—-FLIRTATION WALK

"So this is Flirtation Walk?" asked Belle Meade.

The four young people—-Anstey was one of them—-had just turned into the famous path, which begins not far to the eastward of the hotel. It was between one and two o'clock on Sunday afternoon.

"This is Flirtation Walk," replied Mr. Anstey.

"But is one compelled to flirt, on this stroll?" asked Belle, with a comical pout.

"By no means," Anstey hastened to assure her. "Yet the surroundings often bring out all there may be of slumbering inclination to flirt."

"Where did the walk ever get such a name?" pursued Belle.

"Really, you have to see the first half of it before you can quite comprehend," the Virginian told her.

"I suppose you have been over this way times innumerable?" teased Miss Meade.

"Hardly," replied Anstey seriously. "I have been a yearling only a few days."

"But is a plebe forbidden to stroll here?"

"If a plebe did have the brass to try it," replied Anstey slowly, "I reckon he would have to fight the whole yearling class in turn."

Laura caught some of the conversation, and turned to Dick.

"Haven't plebes any rights or privileges?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, indeed," replied Prescott gravely. "A plebe is fed three meals a day, like anyone else. If he gets hurt he has a right to medical and surgical attendance. He is allowed to attend chapel on Sunday, just like an upper classman, and he may receive and write letters. But he mustn't butt into upper-class privileges."

"Poor plebe!" sighed sympathetic Laura.

"Lucky plebe!" amended Dick.

"Weren't you fearfully glum and homesick last year?

"Some of the time, desperately so."

"Yet you believe it is right to ignore a plebe, and to make him so wretched?"

"The upper classmen don't make the plebe wretched. The plebe is just on probation while he's in the fourth class—-that's all. The plebe is required to prove that he's a man before he's accepted as one."

"It all seems dreadfully hard," contended Laura.

"It is hard, but necessary, if the West Point man is to be graduated as anything but a snob with an enlarged cranium. Laura, you remember what a fuss the 'Blade' made over me when I won my appointment? Now, almost every new man come to West Point with some such splurge made about him at home. He reaches here thinking he's one of the smartest fellows in creation. In a good many cases, too, the fellow has been spoiled ever since he was a baby, by being the son of wealthy parents, or by being from a family distinguished in some petty local social circles. The first move here, on the part of the upper classmen, is to take all of that swelling out of the new man's head. Then, most likely, the new man has never had any home training in being really manly. Here, he must be a man or get out. It takes some training, some probation, some hard knocks and other things to make a man out of the fellow. He has to be a man, if he's going to be fit to command troops."

Anstey, who had been walking close behind his comrade, added:

"The new man, if he has been spoiled at home, usually comes here with a more or less bad temper. He can't talk ugly here, or double his fists, or give anyone black looks—-except with one invariable result."

"What?" asked both girls eagerly.

"He must fight, as soon as the meeting can be arranged," replied Anstey.

"That sounds rather horrible!" shuddered Laura.

"Does it?" asked Dick dryly. "We're being trained here for fighting men."

"But what do they fight about?" inquired Belle.

"Well, one man, who probably will never be thought of highly again," replied Anstey, "spoke slightingly of a girl at the hop last night. The cadet who heard him didn't even know the girl, but he called the cadet a 'dog' for speaking that way of a woman."

"What happened?" inquired Laura.

"The man who was called a 'dog' was, according to our code, compelled to call his insulter out."

"Are they going to fight?" asked Belle eagerly.

"The 'dog' was whipped at the first streak of daylight this morning," the Virginian answered. "That particular 'dog' is now in a special little kennel at the hospital. Hasn't he learned anything? He knows more about practical chivalry than he did last night."

"This talk is getting a bit savage," laughed Dick. "Let me call your attention to the beauty of the view here."

The view was, indeed, a striking one. The two couples had halted at a rock-strewn point on the walk. The beauty of the woods was all about them.

Through the trees to the east they could see the Hudson, almost at their feet, yet far below them. Looking northward, they saw a noble sweep of the same grand river, above the bend.

"Come forward a bit" urged Anstey of Belle. "I want to show you a beautiful effect across the river."

As they passed on, just out of sight, Greg Holmes came along, talking animatedly with Miss Griffin. At sight of Laura, Greg halted, and the four young people chatted. At last Holmes and Miss Griffin passed on to speak to Belle.

"I feel as if I could spend an entire day on this beautiful spot," murmured Laura contentedly.

"Let me fix a seat for you," begged Dick, spreading his handkerchief on a flat rock.

Laura thanked him and sat down. Dick threw himself on the grass beside the rock.

Then Laura told him a lot of the home-town news, and they talked over the High School days to their hearts' content.

"I don't know that I've ever seen such a beautiful spot as it is right at this part of the walk," spoke Laura presently, after a few couples had strolled above them. "And such beautiful wild flowers! Look at the honeysuckle up there. I really wish I could get some of that to take back to the hotel. I could press it before it withered."

"It is easily enough obtained," smiled Dick, rising quickly.

"O-o-o-h! Don't, please!" called Miss Bentley uneasily, for Dick, after examining the face of the little cliff for footing, had begun to scale up toward the honeysuckle.

"Hold your parasol—-open," he directed, looking down with a smile.

In another moment he was tossing down the beautiful blossoms into the open parasol that Miss Bentley held upside down.

"How would you like some of these ferns?" Dick called down, pulling out a sample by the roots and holding it out to view.

"Oh, if you please!"

Several ferns fell into the upturned parasol. Then Dick scrambled down, resuming his lounging seat on the grass, while Laura examined her treasures and chatted.

"What a splendid, thoroughbred girl she has become!" kept running through Prescott's mind.

Every detail, from the tip of her small, dainty boot, peeping out from under the hem of the skirt, up to the beautiful coloring of her face and the purity of her low, white feminine brow Dick noted in turn. He had never seen Laura look so attractive, not even in her dainty ball finery of the night before. He had never felt so strongly drawn toward her as he did now. He longed to tell her so, and not lightly, either, but with direct, manly force and meaning.

Though Cadet Prescott's face showed none of his temptation, he found himself repeatedly on the dangerous brink of sentimentality. Since coming to West Point he had seen many charming girls, yet not one who appealed to him as did this dainty one from his own home town and the old, bygone school days.

But Dick tried to hold himself back. He had, yet, nothing to offer the woman whom he should tell of his love. He was by no means certain that he would finally graduate from the Military Academy. Without a place in life, what had he to offer? Would it be fair or honorable to seek to capture the love of this girl when his own future was yet so uncertain?

Yet caution and prudence seemed more likely to fly away every time he glanced at this dear girl. In desperation Dick rose quickly.

"Laura," he said softly, "if we remain here all afternoon there is a lot that we shall fail to see. Are you for going on with our walk?"

Laura Bentley looked up at him with something of a little start. Perhaps she, too, had been thinking, but a girl may not speak all that passes in her mind.

"Yes," she answered; "let us keep on."

Dick, as he walked beside her, was tortured with the feeling that Laura Bentley might not wait long before making her choice of men in the world. Some other fellow, more enterprising than he, might——-

"But it wouldn't be fair!" muttered Prescott to himself. "I have no right to ask her to tie herself for years, and then perhaps fail myself."

Laura thought her cadet companion appeared a bit absent minded during the rest of the walk. Who shall know what passes in a girl's innermost mind? Perhaps she divined what was moving in his mind.

As they passed by the coast battery, then came up by Battle Monument, and so to the hotel, they found Greg and Anstey leaning against the veranda railing, chatting with Belle and Miss Griffin. These latest arrivals joined the others. Mrs. Bentley at last came down and joined them.

Thrice, in duty bound, Dick glanced at his watch. The third time a sigh full of bitterness escaped him.

"This is the meanest minute in my life," he declared. "It is time to say good-bye, for we must get back to camp and into full-dress uniform for parade."

"But shall we not see you after parade? asked Laura, looking up quickly, an odd look flitting over her face.

"No; we are soldiers, and move by schedule," signed Dick. "After parade there will be other duties, then supper. And you are going at the end of parade!"

Bravely Prescott faced the farewells, though he knew more of the wrench than even Laura could have guessed.

"But you will come again in winter?" he murmured in a low voice to Laura.

"If mother permits," she answered, looking down at her boot tip, then up again, smiling, into his face.

"Mrs Bentley, you'll bring the girls here again, this winter, won't you?" appealed Dick.

"If Dr. Bentley and Belle's parents approve, I'll try to," answered the matron.

Then came the leave-takings, brief and open. With a final lifting of their caps Dick and the others turned and strode down the path. Laura and Belle gazed after them until the young men had disappeared into the encampment.

But you may be sure the girls were over on the parade ground by the time that the good old gray battalion had turned out and marched over, forming in battalion front.

It was a beautiful sight. Mrs. Bentley wasn't martial, but as she looked on at that straight, inflexible wall of gray and steel, as the band played the colors up to the right of line, the good matron was thinking to herself:

"What a pity that the country hasn't a thousand such battalions of the flower of young American manhood! Then what fear could we know in time of war?"

The girls looked on almost breathlessly, starting at the boom of the sunset gun, then thrilling with a new realization of what their country meant when the band crashed out in the exultant strains of the "Star Spangled Banner" and the Stars and Stripes fluttered down at West Point, to rise on another day of the nation's life.

It was over, and the visitors took the stage to the railway station.

What a fearfully dull evening it seemed in camp! Dick had never known the time to hang so heavily. He would almost have welcomed guard duty.

Over in another tent near by a "soiree" was in full but very quiet blast, for that bumptious plebe, Mr. Briggs, had been caught in more mischief, and was being "instructed" by his superiors in length of service.

Prescott, however, didn't even look in to see what was happening.

* * * * * * * *

"Isn't West Point life glorious, Belle?" asked Laura eagerly as the West Shore train carried them toward New York.

"Fine!" replied Belle enthusiastically. "But still—-wait until we have seen Annapolis."

At ten o'clock the next morning the young ladies and Mrs. Bentley were traveling in a Pullman car, on another stage of their journey. "I wonder what our young cadets are doing?" Laura wondered aloud, as she leaned forward.

"Enjoying themselves, you may be sure," Mrs. Bentley replied promptly, with a smile.

"That summer encampment seems like one long, huge lark," put in Belle Meade. "It must be great for young men to be able to enjoy themselves so thoroughly."

"I wonder just what our young men are doing at this moment?" persisted Laura.

"Well, if they're not dressing for something," calculated Mrs. Bentley, "you may be sure they're moving about looking as elegant as ever and making themselves highly agreeable in a social way."

Ye gods of war! At that very moment Dick, in field uniform, and dripping profusely under the hot sun, was carrying a long succession of planks, each nearly as long and heavy as he could manage, to other cadets who waited to nail them in place on a pontoon bridge out over an arm of the Hudson. Greg Holmes was one of four young men toiling at the rope by which they were endeavoring to drag a mountain howitzer into position up a steep slope near Crow's Nest, while Anstey, studying field fortification, was digging in a trench with all his might and main.



CHAPTER X

THE CURE FOR PLEBE ANIMAL SPIRITS

So the weeks slipped by.

Up at five in the morning, busy most of the time until six in the evening, the cadets of the first, third and fourth classes found ample time to enjoy themselves between dark and taps, at 10.30, except when guard duty or something else interfered.

Much of the "idle" time through the day was spent in short naps, to make up for that short six hours and a half of regular night sleep.

Yet all the young men seemed to thrive in their life of hard work and outdoor air.

Hazing was proceeding merrily, so far as some of the yearlings were concerned. Perhaps half of the class in all engaged in two or more real hazings through the summer. A few of the third classmen became almost inveterate hazers.

But Dick Prescott, true to the principles had stated at the beginning of the encampment, hazed a plebe only when he believed it to be actually necessary in order to keep properly down some bumptious new man.

Dodge returned from hospital after a very short stay there. Word had spread through the camp. Though Dodge, who admitted frankly that his thrashing had been deserved, managed to keep a few friends, but was avoided by most of the yearlings. Since he had taken his medicine so frankly, he was not, however, "cut."

One afternoon, when Dick had been dozing on his mattress for about ten minutes, during a period of freedom from drill, the tent flap rustled, and Yearling Furlong looked in.

"What is it?" called Dick.

"Sorry if I've roused you, old ramrod," murmured the caller.

"That's all right, Milesy. Come in and rest yourself. You won't mind if I keep flat, will you?

"Not in training for sick report?" asked Furlong, glancing down solicitously. But he saw the glow of robust health glowing through the deep coat of tan on Prescott's face.

"My appetite doesn't resemble sick report," laughed Dick. "But, while you don't really look ill, Milesy, it's very plain that you have something serious on your mind. Out with it!

"I guess that will make me feel better," assented Furlong, with a sigh. "It's all that little plebe beast, Mr. Briggs."

"Surely he hasn't been hazing you?" inquired Prescott, opening his eyes very wide.

"No, no; not just that, old ramrod," replied Furlong. "But Mr. Briggs is proving a huge disappointment to me. I've done my best to make a meek and lowly cub of him, but he won't consent to fill his place. Now, that little beast made a good enough get away with his studies during the three months before camp. He mastered all the work of the soldier in ranks. At bottoms Mr. Briggs is really a very good little boy soldier. But he's so abominably and incurably fresh that he should have gone to Annapolis, where there's always some salt in the breeze.

"What has Mr. Briggs been doing now?" asked Dick with interest.

"What doesn't Mr. Briggs do?" sighed Furlong mournfully. "Instead of sleeping nights, that beast must lie awake, devising more ways of being unutterably fresh. But now he's contaminating his bunkie, Mr. Ellis."

"Evil company always did work havoc with good manners," nodded Dick. "So Mr. Ellis has gone bad, has he?"

"Do you know," continued Furlong severely, "that three mornings ago, when Jessup, of our class, was dressing at forty horsepower so he wouldn't miss reveille formation, that he stepped into two shoes full of soft soap, and had to go out sloshing into line in that shape, just because he couldn't spare the time to take his shoes off and empty them?

"Yes," nodded Prescott. "We suspected Haverford, of the first class, of that, because Jessup, on guard, challenged Haverford when Haverford was trying to run the guard after taps."

"Haverford nothing," retorted Furlong. "He's above such jobs. No, sir! This afternoon Jessup ran plumb into Mr. Ellis when that little beast bunkie of the other beast, Mr. Briggs, was just in the act of dropping soft soap into the shoes that Aldrich will wear to dress parade today.

"Where on earth did Mr. Ellis get hold of soft soap?" demanded Prescott, raising himself on one elbow.

"You're entirely missing the problem, old ramrod!" grunted Furlong wrathfully. "The question is, how can we possibly soak such habits out of Mr. Ellis and Mr. Briggs?"

"Perhaps it can't be done," suggested Dick.

"It must be done!" uttered Furlong savagely.

"Well, I can't think of any yearling better suited to the task that you are, Milesy!"

"One man? or one tentful, isn't equal to any such gigantic piece of work!" retorted Furlong. "Ramrod, you've got to appoint a class committee to take these two baboons in hand. It ought to be done this very night, too. Now, sit up, won't you, and get your thinking cap on?"

"Have you talked with any of the other men?"

"Yes; and they all agree that a soiree must be given to Mr. Ellis, and that you should be present."

"What is the call for me, Milesy?

"You are the class president."

"But this is no affair that involves the honor of the class. Therefore, as president, I cannot see that there is any call for me."

"It is the feeling with all the members of the yearling class that you should be present."

Prescott looked at his visitor intently for a moment.

Dick understood, now. He had taken "too little" interest in the hazing of b.j. plebes, and the class did not want to see its president shirk any duties that might be considered his, either as yearling or as class president.

"Very good, Milesy," replied Dick quietly. "You may inform all anxious inquirers that I'll be on hand. Where and at what hour?"

"Eight o'clock, in Dunstan's tent."

"Very good."

Furlong arose with a satisfied look on his face. He had, in fact, been deputed by others to make sure that Prescott would be on hand. There is always a good deal of risk attendant on hazing. It may lead to discovery—-and dismissal.

"I wonder if some of the fellows think I keep away from hazing simply because I'm afraid of risking my neck?" yawned Dick. "They practically insist on my sitting in to-night, do they? Oh, well!"

The hop took more men away from camp than usual that night. Other cadets met friends from the hotel or officers' quarters at post number one.

But over in Dunstan's tent a considerable group of yearlings gathered. A few, in fact, were obliged to stand outside. This they did in such a way as not to attract the attention of the O.C. or any chance tac.

Dick was there, and with him were Holmes and Anstey, to both of whom had been conveyed a hint as strong as that which had reached the class president. Furlong, Griffin and Dobbs were in the tent. Jessup and Aldrich were there as a matter of fact.

On the still night air came the clanging of eight on the big clock down in the group of barracks and Academic Building. Just as the strokes were pealing forth Plebes Briggs and Ellis came up the street and stood at the front pole of Dunstan's tent.

"Come in, beasties," summoned Furlong. "We are awaiting you."

Neither plebe looked over joyous as the pair entered.

"Stand there, misters," ordered Dick, pointing to the space that had been reserved for the victims of the affair. "Now, misters, there is some complaint that you have mistaken West Point for a theatrical training school. The suspicion is gaining ground that you two beasties imagine you have been appointed here as comedians. Is that your delusion?"

"No, sir," replied Mr. Briggs and Mr. Ellis in one solemn breath.

"Then what ails you, misters?" demanded Dick severely.

Both plebes remained silent.

"Answer me, sirs. You first, Mr. Briggs."

"I think we must have been carried away by excess of animal spirits, sir," replied Mr. Briggs, now speaking meekly enough.

"Animal spirits?" repeated Dick thoughtfully. "There may be much truth and reason in that idea. Camp life here is repressive of animal spirits, to be sure. We who are your mentors to some extent should have thought of that. Mr. Briggs, you shall find relief for your animal spirits. Mr. Ellis, what is your defence?"

"I thought, sir—-thought——-"

With the yearling President's eyes fixed on him in stern, searching gaze, the once merry little Mr. Ellis became confused. He broke off stameringly.

"That's enough, Mr. Ellis," replied the class president. "You admit that you thought. Now, no plebe is capable of thinking. Your answer, mister, proves you to be guilty of egotism."

Then Dick, with the air of a judge, yet with a mocking pretence of gentleness and leniency sounding; in his voice, turned back to Plebe Briggs.

"Mr. Briggs, you will now proceed to relieve your animal spirits by some spirited animal conduct. The animal that you will represent will be the crab. Down on your face, mister!"

Flat on the floor lay Mr. Briggs. The yearlings outside, at the tent doorway, scenting something coming, peered in eagerly.

"Now, spread out your arms and legs, mister, just as any good crab should do. Raise your body from the floor. Not too much; about six inches will do. Now, mister, move about as nearly as possible in the manner of a crab. Stop, mister! Don't you know that a crab moves either backwards or sideways? It will not give enough vent to your animal spirits unless you move exactly as your model, the crab, does. Try it again, mister, and be painstaking in your imitation."

Mr. Briggs presented a most grotesque appearance as he crawled about over the floor in the very limited space allowed him by the presence of so many others. The yearlings enjoyed it all in mirthful silence.

"As for you, mister," continued Dick, turning upon the uncomfortable Mr. Ellis, "your self-conceit so fills every part of your body that the only thing for you is to stand on your head. Go to the rear tentpole and stand on your head. You may brace your feet against the pole. But remain on your head until we make sure that all the conceit has run out of you!"

Mr. Briggs was still "crabbing it" over the floor. Every minute the task became more irksome.

"Up with you, mister," Prescott admonished. "No self-respecting crab, with an abundance of animal spirits, ever trails along the ground like that."

After some two minutes of standing on his head Mr. Ellis fell over sideways, his feet thudding.

"Up with you, sir," admonished Dick. "You are still so full of egotism that it sways you like the walking beam of a steamboat. Up with you, mister, and up you stay until there is no ballast of conceit left in you."

Crab-crab-crab! Mr. Briggs continued to move sidewise and backward over the tent flooring.

Mr. Ellis was growing frightfully red in the face. But Prescott, from the remembrance of his own plebe days, knew to a dot how long a healthy plebe could keep that inverted position without serious injury. So the class president, sitting as judge in the court of hazing, showed no mercy.

Some of the yearlings who stood outside peering in should have kept a weather eye open for the approach of trouble from tac. quarters. But, as the ordeals of both of the once frisky plebes became more severe, the interest of those outside increased.

Crab-crab-crab! continued Mr. Briggs. It seemed to him as though his belt-line weighed fully a ton, so hard was it to keep his abdomen off the floor, resting solely on his hands and feet.

Mr. Ellis must have felt that conceit and he could never again be friends, judging by the redness of his face and the straining of his muscles.

An approaching step outside should have been heard by some of the yearlings looking in through the doorway, but it wasn't. Then, all in an instant, the step quickened, and Lieutenant Topham, O.C. for the day, made for the tent door!



CHAPTER XI

LIEUTENANT TOPHAM FEELS QUEER

Yearling Kelton barely turned his head, but he caught sight of the olive drab of the uniform of the Army officer within a few feet.

Pretending not to have seen the officer, Cadet Kelton drew in his breath with a sharp whistle. It was not loud, but it was penetrating, and it carried the warning.

Swift as a flash Prescott caught upside-down Mr. Ellis, and fairly rolled him out under the canvas edge at the back of the tent.

Greg instantly shoved the prostrate Mr. Briggs through by the same exit.

Fortunately both plebes were too much astonished to utter a sound.

"Crouch and scowl at me, Greg—-hideously whispered alert-witted Dick."

As he spoke, Prescott swiftly crouched before Holmes. Dick's hands rested on his knees; he stuck out his tongue and scowled fiercely at Holmes, who tried to repay the compliment with interest.

Although all the yearlings in the tent had been "scared stiff" at Kelton's low, warning signal, all, by an effort, laughed heartily, their gaze on Prescott and Holmes.

"Yah!" growled Dick. "Perhaps I did steal the widow's chickens, and I'll even admit that I did appropriate the pennies from her baby's bank. But that's nothing. Tell 'em about the time you stole the oats from the blind horse's crib and put breakfast food in its place."

Everyone of the yearlings in the tent knew that trouble stood at the door, and that they must keep up the pretence.

There was a chorus of laughter, and two or three applauded.

"I did—-admit it," bellowed Greg. "But you stand there and admit the whole shameful truth about the time that you——-"

"Attention!" called Kelton, turning, then recognizing Lieutenant Topham and saluting. "The officer in charge!"

On the jump every yearling inside turned and stood rapidly at attention.

"Gentlemen, I'm sorry to have spoiled the show," laughed Lieutenant Topham. He had seen the shadows of Briggs and Ellis on the canvas, and had expected to drop in upon a different scene. But now this tac. was wholly disarmed. He honestly believed that he had stumbled upon a party of yearlings having a good time with a bit of nonsensical dialogue.

"Mr. Prescott! Mr. Holmes!"

"Sir?" answered both yearlings, saluting.

"I will suggest that you two might work up the act you were just indulging in. You ought to raise a great laugh the next time a minstrel show is given by the cadets."

"Thank you, sir"—-from both "performers."

Lieutenant Topham turned and passed on down the company street.

The two expelled plebes, in the meantime, had a chance to slip off silently. Even had Briggs and Ellis been inclined to "show up" their hazers, they knew too well the fate that would await such a pair of plebes at the hands of the cadet corps.

"That shows how easily a suspicious man's eyes may deceive him," mused Lieutenant Topham as he walked along.

Kelton now allowed his gaze to follow the retreating O.C., while the yearlings in the tent stood in dazed silence. They were still panting over the narrow escape from a scrape that might have cost them their places on the roll of the battalion.

"Safe!" whispered Kelton. "You may thank your deliverers."

Then, indeed, the other yearlings pressed about Prescott and Holmes, hugging them and patting them extravagantly.

When Lieutenant Topham returned to his tent, he found Captain Bates there, with a visitor. By the time that he had stepped inside, Topham also discovered the presence of the K.C. likewise engaged.

"I've just had a good lesson in the pranks that a man's eyes and ears may play upon him," announced Topham, unbelting his sword.

Then he related, with relish, the occurrence at Dunstan's tent.

"Humph!" grunted Captain Bates. "You say Mr. Prescott was there?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Then, Topham, you didn't really see very much of what happened, after all," half jeered Captain Bates. "If Prescott was there, the crowd had a plebe on hand, depend on it."

"But I would have seen the plebe."

"Not when you have to contend with a man like Mr. Prescott! If he had a tenth of a second's warning it would be enough for him to roll the plebe out at the back of the tent."

"Now, I think of it," confessed Lieutenant Topham slowly, "I think I did hear a slight sound at the back of the tent."

"You didn't investigate that sound, Mr. Topham?"

"Why, no, sir. I thought I was looking at the whole show."

"Instead of which," chuckled Captain Bates, "you saw only the curtain that had just been rung down, and the author of the piece bowing to the audience."

"Well, I'll be—-switched!" ejaculated Mr. Topham, dropping into his chair.

"Mr. Prescott has the reputation of being the cleverest dodger in the yearling class," declared the K.C., in a dry voice. "It was Bates who first discovered that quality in Mr. Prescott, but I must admit that he has convinced me. Tomorrow a new cadet corporal will be appointed, and the fact published in orders. The new corporal takes the place of Corporal Ryder, who has been busted (reduced). Mr. Prescott would have been appointed corporal, but for his reputation for dodging out of the biggest scrapes of his class. So Mr. Dodge is to be the new cadet corporal."

"Oh, you sly old ramrod!" Dunstan was murmuring ecstatically, back in that other tent. "When I think of all the yearlings who've been dropped for hazing in past years! If each class had only had a Prescott all of those yearlings would have been saved to the service!"

But Dick, though he did not know it, had a reputation in the tac. department which had just prevented his attaining to the honor that he desired most—-appointment as cadet corporal.



CHAPTER XII

UNDER A FEARFUL CHARGE

Cadet Corporal Dodge took his new appointment as a triumph in revenge. Of late he had been growing even less popular. He determined to be a martinet with the men in ranks under him. He made the mistake that all petty, senseless tyrants do. The great disciplinarian is never needlessly a tyrant.

* * * * * * * *

The summer in camp passed quickly after July had gone.

In all, Miss Griffin made four visits to West Point that summer. Greg became her favored and eager escort, to the disappointment of fifty men who would have been glad to take his place.

Both Cadet Holmes and Mr. Griffin's very pretty sister kept up their attitudes of laughing challenge to each other throughout the summer. It was impossible to see that either had scored a deep impression on the other.

Not even to his chum did Greg confide whether Miss Griffin had caught his heart. Mr. Griffin, her brother, could hardly venture a guess to himself as to whether his sister cared for the tall and manly looking Holmes.

But when Miss Griffin had reached the end of her last summer visit to West Point she told Greg that she would not be there again for some time to come.

"At least," asked Greg, "you'll be here again when the winter hops start?"

"I cannot say," was all the reply Miss Adele Griffin would make.

"In three weeks she goes back to the seminary in Virginia," said Griff, when Greg spoke to him about the matter. "Dell won't see West Point before next summer. Our people are not rich enough to keep Dell traveling all the time."

Whether Greg was crestfallen at the news no one knew. Greg had never believed, anyway, in wearing his heart on his sleeve—-"just for other folks to stick pins in it, you know," was his explanation.

There came the day when the furloughed second class marched over to camp. Very quickly after that all classes were back in cadet barracks, and the charming summer of Mars had given place to the hard fall, winter and spring of the academic grind.

The return to studies found both Greg and Dick forced to do some extra hard work. Mathematics for this year went "miles ahead" of anything that the former Gridley boys had encountered in High School. Had they been able to pursue this branch of study in the more leisurely and lenient way of the colleges, both young men might have stood well.

As it was, after the first fortnight Greg went to the "goats," or the lowest section in mathematics, while Dick, not extremely better off, hung only in the section above the goat line.

As the fall hops came on Greg went to about three out of every four.

"A fellow can bone until his brain is nothing but a mess of bone dust," he complained. "Dick, old chum, you'd better go to hops, too."

Dick went to only one, in October. He stagged it, whereas Greg often dragged. But Prescott saw no girl there who looked enough like Laura Bentley to interest him. His standing in class interested him far more than hops at which a certain Gridley girl could not be present.

Laura had written him that she and Belle might be at a hop early in December.

"I'll wait and look forward to it," decided Dick. But he said nothing, even to Greg. Holmes was showing an ability to be interested in too many different girls, Prescott decided.

But it may be that Holmes, knowing that Griffin corresponded with his pretty, black-eyed little sister, may have been intentionally furnishing subjects for the news that was despatched to a Virginia seminary.

"Come on, old ramrod," urged Greg one Saturday night, as he gave great heed to his dressing. "You'll bone yourself dry, staying here all the time with Smith's conic sections. Drop that dry math. rot and stag it with me over at Cullum tonight. You can take math. up again after chapel tomorrow."

"Thank you," replied Prescott, turning around from the study table at which he was seated. "I don't care much for the social whirl while there's any doubt about the January exams. It would be no pleasure to go over to Cullum. There'll be real satisfaction if I can look forward to better marking this coming week."

Dick spent his time until taps at the study table. But when he closed the book it was with a sigh of satisfaction.

"If I can only go through a few more nights as easily as I have tonight, I'll soon astound myself by maxing it" (making one of the highest marks), he told himself. "I think I'm beginning to see real light in conic sections, but I'll have the books out again tomorrow afternoon."

* * * * * * * *

"Well?" challenged Holmes gayly, as he entered their room after the hop.

"I believe I'm going to turn over a new leaf and max it some," grinned Prescott.

"Don't!" expostulated Greg, with a look of mock alarm.

The daily marks were not posted until the end of the academic week, but Prescott knew, when Monday's recitation in mathematics was over, that he had found new favor in the eyes of Captain Abbott, the instructor. On Tuesday again he was sure that he had landed another high mark.

Greg caught some of the fire of his chum's example, and he, too, began to bone so furiously that he decided to drop the hops for the time.

Wednesday again Dick marched back in mathematics section with a consciousness that he had not fumbled once in explaining the problem that he had been ordered to set forth the blackboard.

"I hear that you're going to graduate ahead of time, and be appointed professor in math.," grinned Greg.

"Well, I'm at least beginning to find out that some things are better than hops," laughed Dick happily. "Greg, if I can kill math. to my satisfaction this year, I shan't have another doubt about being able to get through and graduate here!"

It was the end of November by this time, and Dick, on Thursday of this successful week, received a letter to the effect that Laura and Belle would arrive at West Point on Saturday afternoon at one o'clock.

The news nearly broke up Prescott's three hours of study that Thursday evening. However, he fought off the feeling of excitement and hampering delight.

When Dick marched with his section into mathematics Friday morning he felt a calm confidence that he would keep up the average of his fine performance for the week.

"Mr. Furlong, Mr. Dunstan, Mr. Prescott and Mr. Gray, go to the blackboards," ordered Captain Abbott. "The other gentlemen will recite from their seats."

Stepping nimbly over to the blackboard, in one corner of which his name had been written, Dick picked up the chalk, setting down the preliminaries of the problem assigned to him. Then his chalk ran nimbly along over the first lines of his demonstration.

At last he stopped. Captain Abbott, who was generally accredited with possessing several pairs of eyes, noted that Mr. Prescott had halted.

For some moments the young man went anxiously over what he had already written. At last he turned around, facing the instructor, and saluted.

"Permission to erase, sir?" requested Prescott.,

Captain Abbott nodded his assent.

Picking up the eraser, Dick carefully erased the last two lines that he had set down.

Then, as though working under a new inspiration, he went ahead setting down line after line of the demonstration of this difficult problem. Only once did he halt, and then for not more than thirty seconds.

Dunstan went through a halting explanation of his problem. Then Captain Abbott called:

"Mr. Prescott!"

Taking up the short pointer, Dick rattled off the statement of the problem. Then he plunged into his demonstration, becoming more and more confident as he progressed.

When he had finished Captain Abbott asked three or four questions. Dick answered these without hesitation.

"Excellent," nodded the gratified instructor. "That is all, Mr. Prescott."

As Dick turned to step to his seat he pulled his handkerchief from the breast of his blouse and wiped the chalk from his hands. All unseen by himself a narrow slip of white paper fluttered from underneath his handkerchief to the floor.

"Mr. Prescott," called Captain Abbott, "will you bring me that piece of paper from the floor?"

Dick obeyed without curiosity, then turned again and gained his seat. The instructor, in the meantime, had called upon Mr. Pike. While Pike was reciting, haltingly, Captain Abbott turned over the slip of paper on his desk, glancing at it with "one of his pairs of eyes."

Anyone who had been looking at the instructor at that moment would have noted a slight start and a brief change of color in the captain's face. But he said nothing until all of the cadets had recited and had been marked.

"Mr. Prescott!" the instructor then called Dick rose, standing by his seat.

"Mr. Prescott, did you work out your problem for today unaided?"

"I had a little aid, last night, sir, from Mr. Anstey."

"But you had no aid in the section room today?"

"No, sir," replied Dick, feeling much puzzled.

"You understand my question, Mr. Prescott?"

"I think so, sir."

"In putting down your demonstration on the blackboard today you had no aid whatever?"

"None whatever, sir."

"At one stage, Air. Prescott, you hesitated, waited, then asked permission to erase? After that erasure you went on with hardly a break to the end of the blackboard work."

"Yes, sir."

"And, at the time you hesitated, before securing leave to erase, you did not consult any aid in your work?"

"No, sir."

"This piece of paper," continued Captain Abbott, lifting the slip, "fell from your handkerchief when you drew it out, just as you left the blackboard. That was why I asked you to bring it to me, Mr. Prescott. This paper contains all the salient features of your demonstration. Can you explain this fact, Mr. Prescott?"

The astounded yearling felt as though his brain were reeling. He went hot and cold, all in a flash.

In the same moment the other men of the section sat as though stunned. All lying, deceit and fraud are so utterly detested at West Point that to a cadet it is incomprehensible how a comrade can be guilty of such an offence.

It seemed to Prescott like an age ere he could master his voice.

"I never saw that paper, sir, before you asked me to pick it up!"

"But it dropped from under your handkerchief, Mr. Prescott. Can you account for that?"

"I cannot, sir."

Captain Abbott looked thoughtfully, seriously, at Cadet Richard Prescott. The instructor had always liked this young man, and had deemed him worthy of all trust. Yet what did this evidence show?

In the meantime the cadets sat staring the tops of their desks, or the covers of their books. The gaze of each man was stony; so were his feelings.

Prescott, the soul of honor, caught in such a scrape as this!

But there must be some sensible and satisfactory explanation, thought at least half of the cadets present.

"Have I permission to ask a question, sir?" asked Dick in an almost hollow voice.

"Proceed, Mr. Prescott."

"Is the paper in my handwriting, sir?"

"It is not," declared the instructor. "Most of it is in typewriting, with two figures drawn crudely in ink. There are three or four typewriting machines on the post to which a cadet may find easy access. You may examine this piece of paper, Mr. Prescott, if you think that will aid you to throw any light on the matter."

Dick stepped forward, lurching slightly. Most of the silent men of the section took advantage of this slight distraction to shift their feet to new positions. The noise grated in that awful silence.

How Dick's hand shook as he reached for the paper. At first his eyes were too blurred for him to make out clearly what was on the paper. But at last he made it all out.

"I am very sorry, sir. This paper tells me nothing."

Captain Abbott's gaze was fixed keenly on the young man's face. White-faced Prescott, shaking and ghastly looking, showed all the evidences of detected, overwhelmed guilt.

Innocent men often do the same.

"You may return the paper and take your seat, Mr. Prescott."

As Prescott turned away he made a powerful effort to hold his head erect, and to look fearlessly before him.

It was a full minute, yet, before the bugle would sound through the Academic Building to end the recitation period. Dick was not the only one in this section room who found the wait intolerable.

But at last the bugle notes were heard.

"The section is dismissed," announced Captain Abbott. Dunstan, the section marcher, formed his men and led them thence. No man in the section held his head more erect than did Prescott, who was conscious of his own absolute innocence in the affair.

Yet, when he reached his room, and sank down at his study table, a groan escaped Dick Prescott.

His head fell forward, cushioned in his folded arms.

Thus Holmes found him on entering the room.

"Why, old ramrod, what on earth is the matter?" gasped Greg.

A groan from his chum was the only answer.

At that moment another step, brisk and official, was heard in the corridor. There was a short rap on the door, after which Unwine, cadet officer of the day, wearing his red sash and sword, stepped into the room.

"Mr. Prescott, you are ordered in close arrest in your quarters until further orders."

"Yes, sir," huskily replied Prescott, who had struggled to his feet and now stood at attention.

As Unwine wheeled, marching from the room, Dick sank again over his study table.

"Dick, old ramrod," pleaded Greg terrified, "what on earth——-"

"Greg," came the anguished moan, "they're going to try to fire me from West Point for a common cheat—-and I'm afraid they'll do it, too!"



CHAPTER XIII

IN CLOSE ARREST

Ever since Greg Holmes first came to West Point he had been learning the repose and the reserve of the trained soldier.

Yet if ever his face betrayed utter abandonment to amazement it was now.

Cadet Holmes gazed at his chum in open-mouthed wonder.

"By and by," uttered Greg fretfully, "You'll tell me the meaning of this joke, and why Mr. Unwine should be in it, too."

It was several minutes before Prescott turned around again. When he did there was a furious glare in his eyes.

"Greg, old chum! This is no joke. You heard Unwine. He was delivering an official order, not carrying an April-fool package."

"Well, then, what does it all mean?" demanded Greg stolidly, for he began to feel dazed. "But, first of all, old ramrod, aren't you going to get ready to fall in for dinner formation?"

Mechanically, wearily, Dick obeyed the suggestion.

As he did so he managed to tell the story of the section room to horrified Greg.

"See here," muttered Cadet Holmes energetically, "you didn't do anything in the cheating line. Every fellow in the corps will know that. So you'll have to set your wits at work to find the real explanation of the thing. How could that paper have gotten in with your handkerchief?"

"I don't know," replied Dick, shaking his head hopelessly.

"Well, you've got to find out, son, and that right quick! There isn't a moment to be lost! You didn't cheat—-you wouldn't know how do a deliberately dishonest thing. But that reply won't satisfy the powers that be. You've got to get your answer ready, and do it with a rush."

"Perhaps you can also suggest where the rush should start," observed Prescott.

"Yes; I've got to suggest everything that is going to be done, I reckon," muttered Greg, resting a chum's loyal hand on Dick's shoulder. "Old ramrod, you're too dazed to think of anything, and I'm nearly as badly off myself. Say, did anyone, to your knowledge, have your handkerchief?"

Cadet Richard Prescott wheeled like a flash. His face had gone white again; he stared as though at a terrifying ghost.

"By the great horn spoon, Greg——-"

"Good! You're getting roused. Now, out with it!

"There were a lot of us standing about in the area, a little before time for the math. sections to start off."

"Yes? And some other fellow handled your handkerchief?"

"Bert Dodge found himself without one, and asked me for mine, to wipe a smear of black from the back of his hand."

"Which hand?"

"The left."

"It doesn't really matter which hand," Greg pursued, "but I asked to make sure that your mind is working."

"Oh, my mind is working," uttered Dick vengefully.

"But what else happened about that handkerchief?

"Dodge used it, then started to tuck it into his own blouse. I grinned and reminded him that the handkerchief would fit better inside my blouse."

"And then?"

"Just then the call sounded, and we had to jump. Dodge handed me back the handkerchief with a swift apology, and raced away to join his section."

"And you?"

"I tucked the handkerchief in my blouse."

"Now, do some hard thinking," insisted Holmes. "Did you take that handkerchief out again until the unlucky time just after you had turned away from the board after explaining in math.?"

Dick remained silent, while the clock in the room ticked off the seconds.

"I am sure I did not," he replied firmly. "No; that was the next time that I took my handkerchief out."

"Huh!" muttered Greg. "We've got our start. And it won't be far to the end, either. Cheer up, old man!"

At that instant the call for formation sounded. The young men were ready and turned to leave the room on the jump. As they did so, Greg muttered in a low tone:

"Say nothing, but hold up your head and smile. Don't let anyone face you down. Not ten fellows in the corps will even guess that you could possibly be guilty of anything mean!"

Wouldn't they? West Point cadets have such an utter contempt for anything savoring of cheating or lying that the mere suspicion is often enough to make them hold back.

As the cadets moved to their places in the formations scores of cadets passed Prescott.

Short as the time had been, the news was already flying through the corps.

Usually Dick had a score of greetings as made his way to his place in line. Today dozen cadets who had been among his friends seemed not to see him.

Dick recoiled, inwardly, as though from a stinging blow in the face. None of his comrades meant to be cruel. But most of them wanted to make sure that the seemingly reliable charge was not true. They must wait.

Utterly dejected, Prescott marched to dinner. On his way back to barracks a new and overwhelming thought came to him.

Laura Bentley and her mother, and Belle Meade were due at the hotel the next afternoon, and he and Greg had arranged to drag the girls to the Saturday-night hop.

"Greg, I can't leave quarters," muttered Dick huskily, as he threw himself down at his desk and began to write rapidly. "You'll have to attend to sending this telegram for me."

"On the jump!" assented Greg,

The telegram was addressed to Laura Bentley, and read:

"Don't come to West Point tomorrow. My letter will explain."

"I'll send it before the drawing lesson," Greg uttered, and vanished.

Confined to quarters in close arrest, Cadet Prescott put in more than two miserable hours endeavoring to get that letter written. But he couldn't get it penned. Then a knock came the door, and a telegram was handed in. It read:

"Wife and girls have left for shopping trip in New York. Don't know where to reach them."

It was signed by Dr. Bentley. The yellow paper fluttered from Prescott's hands to the floor. Mechanically he picked it up and carried it to his study table.

"I can't stop them," he muttered dismally. "Nor shall I be out of close arrest by that time, either. There's nothing I can do. I can't even see them—-and I've been looking forward to this for months!"

Again Dick Prescott buried his head in his arms at the study table. To have Laura come here at the time when he was in the deepest disgrace that a cadet may face!

Greg came back to find his chum pacing the floor in misery.

"Well, it can't be helped," muttered Holmes philosophically.

"Of course you and Anstey can drag the girls to Cullum."

"Surely," muttered Holmes listlessly, "if the girls would go at all under such circumstances."

"I've made their trip a mockery and a bitter disappointment," groaned Dick.

"No, you haven't ramrod," retorted Greg. "Fate may be to blame, but you can't be held accountable for what you didn't do. Have no fear. I'll see to the ladies tomorrow afternoon. But I'm a pile more interested in knowing what is to be done in your case. The superintendent and the K.C. may see the absurdity of this whole thing against you, and order your arrest ended."

"But that won't clear me, Greg, and you know it. There would still be the suspicion in the corps, and—-O Greg!—-I can't endure that suspicion."

"Pshaw, old ramrod, you won't have to, very long. We'll bust this whole suspicion higher than any kite ever flew. See here, Dodge is responsible for your humiliation, and we'll drag it all out of him, if we have to tie him up by the thumbs!"

A knock at the door, and Anstey entered.

"I really couldn't get here before, old ramrod. But I'd cut you in a minute if I thought it really necessary to come here and tell you that I don't believe any charge of dishonor against you, Prescott, could possibly be true."

"It's mighty pleasant to have every fellow who feels that way come and say so," muttered Dick gratefully, as he thrust out his hand.

Another knock at the door. Cadet Prescott must report at once at the office of the K.C.

Down the stairs trudged Dick, across the area, and into the office of the commandant of cadets.

"I want to know, Mr. Prescott," declared that officer, "whether you can throw any added light in regard to the occurrence in Captain Abbott's section room this morning."

Dick had to deliberate, swiftly, as to whether he should say anything about having loaned Mr. Dodge his handkerchief briefly.

"I reckon I must speak of it," decided the unhappy cadet. "I mean to have Dodge summoned, if I'm tried, so I may as well speak of it now."

That, and other things, Dick stated. The K.C. listened gravely. It was plain from the officer's manner that he believed Prescott was going to have difficulty in establishing his innocence.

"That is all, Mr. Prescott," said the K.C. finally. Dick saluted and returned to his room.

In the few minutes that had elapsed, Anstey had done much. In the room were a dozen yearlings who were known to be among Dick's best friends. All shock his hand, assuring him that nothing could shake their faith in him. It was comforting, but that was all.

"You see, old ramrod," muttered Greg, when the callers had left, "there are enough who believe in you. Now, you've got to justify that faith by hammering this charge into nothingness. Someone has committed a crime—-a moral crime anyway. In my own mind Dodge is the criminal but I'm not yet prepared to prove it."

In the meantime Cadet Albert Dodge was over in the K.C.'s office, undergoing a rigid questioning. Dodge freely admitted the episode of handkerchief borrowing but denied any further knowledge.

When Bert returned to barracks he was most bitter against Dick. To all who would listen to him Dodge freely stated his opinion of a man who would seek to shield his own wrong-doing by throwing suspicion on another.

"There were plenty who saw me borrow the handkerchief," contended Dodge stormily. "Whoever saw me take it also saw me return it. I'll defy any man to state, under oath, that I returned more than the handkerchief."

"How did the smear happen to be on your hand?" asked Dunstan, who, besides belonging to the same mathematics section with Prescott was also a warm personal friend.

Bert hesitated, looked uneasy, then replied:

"How about the smear? Why—-I don't know It may have come from a match."

"Yes, what about that smear? How did it come there?" cried Greg, when Dunstan repeated Dodge's words.

Through Greg's mind, for hours after that, the question insistently intruded itself:

"How about that smear?"

Yet the question seemed to lead to nothing.

The next morning, Saturday, it was known, throughout cadet barracks, that a general court-martial order for Prescott would be published that afternoon.

On the one o'clock train from New York came Mrs. Bentley, Laura and Belle. They entered the bus at the station, and were driven up, across the plain, to the hotel.

After dinner, the girls waited in pleasant expectancy for Dick and Greg to send up their cards.

Greg's card came up, alone.

Anstey was back in quarters with Dick.



CHAPTER XIV

FRIENDS WHO STAND BY

"Well?" cried Dick, darting up, his eyes shining wildly when Greg finally threw open the door.

"Oh, bosh!" cried Greg jubilantly. "Do you think those girls are going to believe anything against you?"

"What did they say?" demanded Dick eagerly.

"Well, of course they were dazed," continued Greg. "In fact, Mrs. Bentley was the first to speak. What she said was one word, 'Preposterous!'"

"There's a woman aftah my own heart, suh," murmured Anstey.

"Belle got her voice next," continued Greg. "What she said was: "'You're wrong, Mrs. Bentley. It isn't even preposterous.'"

"Miss Meade surely delighted me, the first time I ever saw her," murmured Anstey.

"Laura looked down to hide a few tears," continued Greg. "But she brushed them away and looked up smiling. 'I'm sorry, sorry, sorry for Dick's temporary annoyance,' was what Laura said. 'But of course I know such deceit would be impossible in him, so I shall stay here until I know that the Military Academy authorities and the whole world realize how absurd such a suspicion must be.'"

"She's going to remain here?" faltered Dick.

"All three of 'em are. They couldn't be driven off the reservation by a file of infantry, just now. But both of the girls insisted on sending you a note. Which will you have first?"

"Don't trifle with me, Greg," begged Prescott.

Anstey rose to go.

"Don't take yourself off, Anstey old fellow. Just pardon me while I read my notes."

Dick read Laura's note through, thrilling with the absolute faith that it breathed:

"Dear Dick: Don't be uneasy about us, and don't worry about yourself, either. I couldn't express what I think about the charges, without having a man's license of speech! But you know all that I would write you. Just keep up the good old Gridley grit and smile for a few days. We are going to be here to attend that court-martial, and to give you courage from the gallery—-but I don't believe you need a bit. Faithfully, Laura."

Belle's note was much shorter. It ran:

"Dear Dick: What stupid ideas they have of comedy here at West Point!"

And, as Belle knew that she wasn't and couldn't be Dick's sweetheart, she had not hesitated to sign herself, "Lovingly, Belle."

Dick passed each note in turn to Anstey.

"Your town suhtinly raises real girls!" was the southerner's quiet comment.

Dick felt like a new being. He was pacing the floor now, but in no unpleasant agitation.

"Did you impress the girls with the knowledge that I begged them to go to the hop tonight?" asked Prescott, stopping short and eyeing Greg.

"Did you think I'd forget half of my errand, old ramrod?" demanded Holmes indignantly "I delivered your full request, backed by all that I could add. At first Mrs. Bentley and Laura were shocked at the very idea. But Belle broke in with: 'If we didn't go, it would look as if we were in mourning for some one. We're not. We're just simply sorry that a poor idea of a farce keeps dear old Dick from being with us tonight. If we don't go, Dick Prescott will be more unhappy about it than anyone else in the wide world.'"

"Miss Meade suhtinly doesn't need spectacles," murmured Anstey. "She can see straight!"

"So," continued Greg, "I'm going to drag Laura tonight, and Anstey is going to do the same for Belle."

"And we'll suhtinly see to it that they have, outside of ourselves, of course, the handsomest men in the corps to dance with!" exclaimed Anstey. "If any fine and handsome fellow even tries to get out of it, I'll call him out and fight him stiff, suh!"

"I'm glad you have persuaded the girls to go," nodded Dick cheerily. "That will give me a happier evening than anything else could do just now."

"What will you do this evening, Dick?" asked Greg.

"I? Oh, I'll be busy—-and contented at the same time. Tell that to Laura and Belle, please."

Yet it was with a sense of weariness that Dick turned out for supper formation. There were more pleasant greetings as he moved to his place in ranks, and that made him feel better for the moment. At his table at cadet mess he was amiably and cheerily included in all the merry conversation that flew around.

Then back to quarters Dick went, and soon saw Greg and Anstey, looking their spooniest in their full-dress uniforms, depart on the mission of dragging.

Prescott hardly sighed as he moved over to the study table. He read over a score of times the notes the girls had sent him.

Then came an orderly, who handed in a telegram. Dick opened this with nervous fingers. His eyes lit up when he found that it came from Annapolis. The message read:

"Dear old Dick! You're the straightest fellow on earth! We know. Don't let anybody get your goat!"

"Darrin And Dalzell, Third Class, U.S. Naval Academy."

"Dear old Gridley chums!" murmured the cadet, the moisture coming to his eyes. "Yes, they should know me, if anyone does. Those who know me best are all flocking to offer comfort. Then—-hang it!—-I don't need any. When a fellow's friends all believe in him, what more is there to ask? But I wonder how the news reached Annapolis? I know—-Belle has telegraphed Dave. She knew he'd stand by me."

It was a very cheery Prescott to whom Anstey and Holmes returned. Anstey could remain but an instant, but that instant was enough to cheer the Virginian, the change in Prescott was so great.

In the few moments left before taps sounded, Greg told his chum all he could of the hop, and of the resolute conduct of Laura and Belle in refusing absolutely to be downcast.

"Have you sent any word home?" asked Greg.

"To my father and mother? Not a word! Nor shall I, until this nightmare is all over," breathed Dick fervently.

"Laura wanted to know," Holmes explained. "Of course Mrs. Bentley had to send some word to her husband, to account for their longer absence, but she cautioned Dr. Bentley not to let a word escape."

To himself, as he reached up to extinguish the light, Greg muttered:

"I believe that unhanged scoundrel, Dodge, will see to it that word reaches Gridley!"

In this conjecture Holmes must have been correct, for, the next forenoon, there came a telegram, full of agony, from Prescott's mother, imploring further particulars at once. Mrs. Prescott's dispatch mentioned a "rumor."

"That's Dodge's dirty work," growled Holmes. "So that fastens the guilt of this whole thing upon him—-the dirty dog!"

Yet how to fasten any guilt upon Dodge? Or how force from him any admission that would aid to free Cadet Prescott from the awful charge against him that had now been made official?

That Sunday, Greg, besides paying a long visit in the hotel parlor, and seeing to the dispatch of Dick's answer to his mother, also called, under permission, at the home of Lieutenant Topham, of the tactical department. Prescott had decided to ask that officer to act as his counsel at the court-martial.

Prescott's case looked simple enough. Nor did the judge-advocate of the court-martial need much time for his preparation of the case. The judge-advocate of a court-martial is the prosecuting officer. Theoretically he is also somewhat in the way of counsel for the defence. It is the judge-advocate's duty to prosecute, it is also his duty to inquire into any particulars that may establish the innocence of the accused man.

Mr. Topham at once consented to act as Dick's counsel, and entered heartily into the case.

"But I don't mind telling you, Mr. Prescott," continued Lieutenant Topham, as he was talking the matter over with Dick in the latter's room, "that both sides of the case look to me, at present, like blank walls. It won't be enough to clear you of the charge as far as the action of the court goes. We must do everything in our power to remove the slightest taint from your name, or your position with your brother cadets will never be quite the same again."

"I know that full well, sir," Cadet Prescott replied with feeling. "Though the court-martial acquit me, if there lingers any belief among the members of the cadet corps that I was really guilty, then the taint would not only hang over me here, but all through my subsequent career in the Army. It is an actual, all-around verdict of 'not guilty, and couldn't be,' that I crave sir." "You may depend upon me, Mr. Prescott, to do all in my power for you," promised Lieutenant Topham.



CHAPTER XV

ON TRIAL BY COURT-MARTIAL

Tuesday was the day for the court-martial.

In the Army there is little patience with the law's delays.

A trial must move ahead as promptly as any other detail of the soldier's life. Nothing can hinder a trial but the inability to get all the evidence ready early. In Cadet Prescott's case the evidence seemed so simple as to require no delay whatever.

The weather had been growing warmer within a short time. When Dick and Greg awoke at sound of reveille, they heard the heavy rain no sign of daylight yet.

When the battalion turned out and formed to march to breakfast a more dispiriting day could not be imagined. The rain was converting deep snow into a dismal flood.

But Dick barely noticed the weather. He was full of grit, burning with the conviction that he must have a full vindication today.

It was when he returned to barracks and the ranks were broken, that Dick discovered how many friends he had. Fully twoscore of his classmates rushed to wring his hand and to wish him the best kind of good luck that day.

Yet at 7.55 the sections marched away to mathematics, philosophy or engineering, according to the classes to which the young soldiers belonged.

Then Prescott faced a lonely hour in his room.

"The fellows were mighty good, a lot of them," thought the accused cadet, with his first real sinking feeling that morning. "Yet, if any straw of evidence, this morning, seems really to throw any definite taint upon me, not one of these same fellows would ever again consent to wipe his feet on me!"

Such is the spirit of the cadet corps. Any comrade and brother must be wholly above suspicion where his honor is concerned.

Had Dick been really guilty he would have been the meanest thing in cadet barracks.

At a little before nine o'clock Lieutenant Topham called. To Cadet Prescott it seemed grimly absurd that he must now go forth in holiday attire of cadet full-dress uniform, white lisle gloves and all—-to stand before the court of officers who were to decide whether he was morally fit to remain and associate with the other cadets. But it was the regulation that a cadet must go to court, whether as witness or accused, in full-dress uniform.

"I'm going to do my best for you today, Mr. Prescott," declared Lieutenant Topham, as they walked through the area together.

Into the Academic Building counsel and accused stepped, and on to the great trial room in which so many cadets had met their gloomy fates.

At the long table sat, in full-dress uniform, and with their swords on, the thirteen Army officers of varying ranks who composed the court.

At one side of the room sat the cadet witnesses. These were three in number. Mr. Dunstan and Mr. Gray were there as the two men who had occupied blackboards on either side of Prescott the Friday forenoon before. Cadet Dodge was there to give testimony concerning the handkerchief episode in the area of barracks before the sections had marched off to math.

Captain Abbott, of course, was there, to testify to facts of his knowledge. Never had there been a more reluctant witness than that same Captain Abbott, but he had his plain duty to do as an Army officer detailed at the United States Military Academy.

Lieutenant Topham and Dick, on entering, had turned toward the table reserved for counsel.

For a moment, Dick Prescott had raised his face to the gallery. There he beheld Mrs. Bentley, Laura and Belle, all gazing down at him with smiling, friendly faces.

Dick could not send them a formal greeting. But he looked straight into the eyes of each in turn. His smile was steady, clear and full of courage. His look carried in it his appreciation of their loyal friendship.

Among the visitors there were also the wives of a few Army officers stationed on the post. Nearly all of these knew Prescott, and were interested in his fate.

Among the spectators up there was one heavily veiled woman whom Dick could not see from the floor as he entered the room. Nor did that woman, who had drawn back, intend that he should see her.