Outwardly A company and the entire corps of cadets was as placid and unruffled as ever when the two battalions marched to breakfast that morning.
One conversant with military procedure, however, would have noted that Jordan, being a prisoner, marched in the line of the file closers.
And Mr. Jordan's face was wholly sulky, strive as he would to banish the look and appear indifferent.
Even to a fellow naturally as unsocial as the cadet now in arrest, it was no joke to be confined to his tent even for the space of a week, except when engaged in official duties; and to be obliged, two afternoons in a week, to march in full equipment and carry his piece, for three hours in the barracks quadrangle under the watchful eyes of a cadet corporal.
This penalty would last during the remaining weeks of the encampment and would be pronounced upon Jordan as soon as the commandant of cadets perfunctorily confirmed the temporary order of Lieutenant Denton.
Dick, at the head of A company, looked as impassive as ever, though he felt far from comfortable.
Through the ranks, wherever first classmen walked, excitement was seething.
When Prescott was seated at table in the cadet mess hall, Greg, who sat next his chum, turned and raised his eyebrows briefly, as though to say:
"There's something warm in the air."
Dick's momentary glance in return as much as said:
"I know it."
None of the other cadets at the same table turned to address Prescott directly, with the single exception of Greg Holmes. True, when Dick had occasion, twice or thrice, to address other men at his table, they answered him, though briefly.
Whatever was in the air it had not broken yet. That was as much as Prescott could guess.
The instant that they had returned to camp, and the two chums were in their tent, Greg whispered fiercely:
"That sulker, Jordan, is putting up trouble for you, as sure as you're alive."
"Then I've given him a bully handle to his weapon," admitted DickPrescott dryly.
They were hustling into khaki field uniform now, and there was little time for comment; none for Greg to go outside and find out what was really in the air. Battery drill was right ahead of them. Barely were the chums changed to khaki field uniform before the call sounded on the bugle.
On the recall from battery drill, the chums had but a few moments before they were called out for a drill in security and information.
So the time passed until dinner. Again Jordan marched in the line of the file closers, and now this first classman had received his official sentence from the commandant of cadets.
So far as the demeanor of the class toward Prescott was concerned, dinner was an exact repetition of breakfast.
On the return of the corps to camp, a few minutes followed that were officially assigned to recreation.
Dick stood just inside the door of his tent when he heard the tread of several men approaching.
Looking out, he saw seven men of his own class coming up. Durville was at their head.
"Good afternoon, Prescott," began Durville.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," nodded Dick.
"We represent the class in a little matter," continued Durville, "and I have been asked to be the spokesman. Can you spare us a little time?"
"All the time that I have before the call sounds for my next drill," replied Prescott.
"Mr. Prescott, you reported a member of our class last night," beganDurville.
"I did so officially," Dick answered.
"Of course, Mr. Prescott, we understand that. The offender was a member of A company, and you are the cadet captain of that company. But this affair happened at the guard line, and you were not cadet officer of the day. Mr. Jordan feels that you exerted yourself to catch him in his delinquency."
"I did not," replied Prescott promptly. "At the time when I called upon the cadet sentry to apprehend Mr. Jordan, I had not the remotest idea that it was Mr. Jordan."
"Then," asked Durville bluntly, "how did you, who were not the cadet officer of the day, happen to be where you could catch Mr. Jordan so neatly?"
"In that matter I have no explanation to offer," Prescott replied.
One less a stickler for duty than Prescott might have replied that he had been on the spot the night before in obedience to a special order from the officer in charge.
Dick Prescott, however, felt that to make such a statement would be a breach of military faith. The order that he had received from Lieutenant Denton he looked upon as a confidential military order that could not be discussed, except on permission or order from competent military sources.
"Now, Prescott," continued Cadet Durville almost coaxingly, "we don't want to be hard on you, and we don't want to do anything under a misapprehension. Can't you be more explicit?"
"I have already regretted my inability to go further into the matter with you," Dick replied, pleasantly though firmly.
"And you can give us no explanation whatever of how you came to report Jordan for being beyond the camp limits?"
"All I am able to tell you is that my reporting of Mr. Jordan was a regrettable but military necessity."
"Is that all we wish to ask, gentlemen?" inquired Durville, turning to his six companions.
"It ought to be," retorted Brown dryly.
The seven nodded very coldly. Durville turned on his heel, leading the others away.
"Unless I'm a poor kitchen judge, old ramrod, your goose is cooked," muttered Greg Holmes mournfully.
"Then it will have to be," spoke Dick resolutely.
"But you haven't told even me how you came to be, last night, just where you could fall afoul of Jordan so nicely."
"Old chum," cried Dick, turning and resting a hand on Greg's right arm, "I can discuss that matter no further with you than I did with the class committee."
"You're a queer old extremist, anyway, with all your notions of duty and other bugaboos. This affair has given me the shivers."
"Then cheer up, Holmesy!" laughed Cadet Captain Prescott.
"Oh, it's you I'm shivering for," muttered Greg.
Six companies of sun-browned, muscular young men marched away to cadet mess hall that evening.
If any of these cadets were more than properly fatigued, none of them betrayed the fact. Their carriage was erect, their step springy and martial. In ranks their faces were impassive, but when they filed into the mess hall, seated themselves at table and glanced about, an orderly Babel broke loose.
At all, that is to say, save one table. That was the table at which Cadet Captain Richard Prescott sat.
Greg was the first to make the discovery. He turned to Brown with a remark. Brown glanced at Holmes, nodding slightly. All the other cadets at that board were eating, their eyes on their plates.
"What's the matter?" quizzed Holmes. "You're ideas moving slowly?"
Again Brown glanced up at his questioner, but that was all.
"How's the cold lamb, Durville?" questioned Dick.
Durville passed the meat without speaking, nor did he look directly at Prescott.
Dick and Greg exchanged swift glances. They understood. The blow had fallen.
The Silence had been given!
Dick felt a hot flush mounting to his temples. The blood there seemed to sting him. Then, as suddenly, he went white, clammy perspiration beading his forehead and temples.
This was the verdict of the class—-of the corps? He had offended the strict traditions and inner regulations of the cadet corps, and was pronounced unfit for association!
That explained the constrained atmosphere at this one table, the one spot in all the big room where silence replaced the merry chatter of mealtime.
"The fellows are mighty unjust!" thought Dick bitterly, as he went on eating mechanically. He no longer knew, really, whether he were eating meat, bread or potato.
That was the first thought of Prescott. But swiftly his view changed. He realized about him, were hundreds of the flower of the young manhood of the United States. These young men were being trained in the ways of justice and honor, and were trying to live up to their ideals.
If such an exceptional, picked body of young men had condemned him—-had sentenced him to bitter retribution—-was it not wholly likely that there was much justice on their side?
"The verdict of so many good and true men must contain much justice," Prescott thought, as he munched mechanically, trying proudly to bide his dismay from watchful eyes. "Then I have offended against manhood, in some way. Yet how? I have obeyed orders and have performed my duties like a soldier. How, then, have I done wrong?"
Once more it seemed indisputable to Prescott that his comrades had wronged him. But once more his own sense of justice triumphed.
"I am not really at fault," he told himself, "nor is the class. The class has acted on the best view of appearances that it could obtain. I was wholly right in obeying the orders that I received from Lieutenant Denton, and equally right in not communicating those orders to a class committee. Nor could I refrain from reporting Mr. Jordan for breach of con. That was my plain duty, more especially as Mr. Jordan is a member of the company that I command. But the appearances have been all against me, and I have refused to explain. The class is hardly to be blamed for condemning me, and I imagine that Mr. Jordan, in accusing me, has not been at all reticent. Probably, too, he has taken no extreme pains to adhere to the exact truth. I do not see how I can get out of the scrape in which I find myself. I wonder if the silence is to be continued until I am forced to resign and give up a career in the Army?"
With such thoughts as these it was hard, indeed, to look and act as though nothing had happened.
But Cadet Jordan, taking eager, covert looks at his enemy from another table, got little satisfaction from anything that he detected in Prescott's face.
"Why, that b.j.(fresh) puppy is quite equal to cheeking his way on through the last year and into the Army!" thought Jordan maliciously. "However, he's done for! No matter if he sticks, he'll never get any joy out of his shoulder straps."
Little could Jordan imagine that Prescott's proud nature would long resist the silence. If this rebuke were to become permanent, then Prescott was not in the least likely to attempt to enter upon his studies at the beginning of they Academic year in September.
And Greg! He didn't waste any time in trying to be just to any one. All his hot blood rose and fomented within him at the bare thought of this terrible indignity put upon that prince of good fellows, Dick Prescott. Holmes felt, in truth, as though he would be glad to fight, in turn, every member of the first class who had voted for the silence.
That practically all the fellows of the first class had voted for the silence, Greg did not for an instant believe. He was well aware that Dick had many staunch friends in the class who would stand out for him in the face of any appearances. But a vote of the majority in favor of the silence would be enough; the rest of the class would be bound by the action of the majority. And all the lower classes would observe and respect any decision of the first class concerning one of its own members.
Not a word did Greg say to Dick. Yet, under the table, Holmes employed one of his knees to give Dick's knee a long, firm pressure that conveyed the hidden message of unfaltering friendship and loyalty.
For the other cadets at the table the silence imposed more or less hardship, since they could utter only the most necessary words. They however, were not objects against whom the silence was directed, and they could endure the absence of conversation with far more indifference than was possible for Prescott.
It was a relief to all at the table, none the less, when the rising order was given. When the corps had marched back to camp, and had been dismissed, Dick Prescott, head erect, and betraying no sign of annoyance, walked naturally into A company's Street, drew out his camp chair and seated himself on it in the open.
Barely had he done so, when Greg arrived. Cadet Holmes, however, did not stop or speak, but hurried on.
"Greg has his hands full," thought Dick. "He's going to investigate. And I'm afraid his hot head will get him into some sort of trouble, too."
The imposition of the silence did not affect Greg in his relations with his tentmate. When a cadet is sent to Coventry, or has the silence "put" on him, his tentmate or roommate may still talk unreservedly with him without fear of incurring class disfavor. To impose the rule of silence on the tentmate or roommate of the rebuked one would be to punish an innocent man along with the guilty one.
Rarely, after all, does the corps err in its judgment when Coventry or the silence is meted out. None the less, in Dick's case a grave mistake had been made.
Time slipped by, and darkness came on, but Greg had not returned.
There was band concert in camp that night. Many cadets of the first and third classes had already gone to meet girls whom they would escort in strolling near the bandstand. Plebes are not expected to escort young ladies to these concerts. The members of the second class were away on the summer furlough, as Dick and Greg had been the summer before.
As the musicians began to tune up at the bandstand, most of the remaining cadets sauntered through the company streets on their way to get close to the music.
All cadets who passed through A company's street became suddenly silent when within ten paces of Dick's tent, and remained silent until ten paces beyond.
Dick's tent being at the head of the street, he was quite near enough to the music. But he was not long in noting that both cadet escorts and cadets without young ladies took pains not to approach too close to where he sat. It was enough to fill him with savage bitterness, though he still strove to be just to his classmates who had been blinded by Cadet Jordan's villainous scheme.
Of a sudden the band struck up its lively opening march. Just at that moment Prescott became aware of the fact that Greg Holmes was lifting out a campstool and was placing it beside him.
"Well," announced Greg, "I've found out all there is behind the silence."
"I took it for granted that was your purpose," Dick responded.
"Aren't you anxious to hear the news, old ramrod?"
"Yes; very."
"I'm hanged if you look anxious!" muttered Greg, studying his chum's face keenly.
"I fancy I've got to display a good deal of skill in masking my feelings," smiled Dick wearily.
"Oh, I don't know," returned Cadet Holmes hopefully. "It may not turn out to be so bad."
"Then a permanent silence hasn't been imposed?"
"Not yet," replied Greg.
"By which, I suppose, you mean that the length of the silence has not yet been decided upon."
"It hasn't," Greg declared. "It was only after the biggest, swiftest and hardest kind of campaign, in fact, that the class was swung around to the silence. Only a bare majority were wheedled into voting for it. Nearly half of the class stood out for you stubbornly, pointing to your record here as a sufficient answer. And that nearly half are still your warm adherents."
"Yet, of course, they are bound by the majority action?"
"Of course," sighed Greg. "That's the old rule here, isn't it? Well, to sum it up quickly, old ramrod, the silence has been put on you, and that's as far as the decision runs up to date. The class is yet to decide on whether the silence is to be for a week or a month. Of course, a certain element will do all in its power to make the silence a permanent thing. Even if it is made permanent, Dick, you'll stick, won't you?"
"No."
"What?"
"I shall not even try to stick against any permanent silence," replied Prescott slowly.
"I thought you had more fight in you than that," muttered Greg in a tone of astonishment.
"I think I have enough fight," Dick replied with some warmth. "And I honestly believe I have enough in me to make at least a moderately capable officer of the Army. But, Greg, I'm not going to make a stubborn, senseless effort, all through life, to stay among comrades who don't want me, and who will make it plain enough that they do not consider me fit to be of their number. Greg, in such an atmosphere I couldn't bring out the best that is in me. I couldn't make the most of my own life, or do the best by those who are dear to me."
There was an almost imperceptible catch in Dick Prescott's voice. He was thinking of Laura Bentley as the one for whom he had hoped to do all his best things in life.
"I don't know but you're right, old fellow. But it's fearfully hard to decide such a matter off-hand," returned Greg. His own voice broke. For some moments Holmes sat in moody silence.
At last he reached out a hand, resting it on Dick's arm.
"If you get out, old ramrod, it's the outs for me on the same day."
"Greg!"
"Oh, that's all right," retorted Cadet Holmes, trying to force a cheery ring into his voice. "If you can't get through and live under the colors, Dick, I don't want to!"
"But Greg, old fellow, you mustn't look at it that way. You have had three years of training here at the nation's expense. It will soon be four. You owe your country some return for this magnificent training."
"How about you, then?" asked Holmes, regarding his friend quizzically.
"Me? I'd stay under the colors, and give up my life for the country and the Army, if my comrades would have it. But if they won't, then it's for the best interests of the service that I get out, Greg."
"Well, talk yourself blind, if it will give you any relief. But post this information up on your inside bulletin board: When you quit the service, old ramrod, it will be 'good-bye' for little Holmesy!"
Breakfast, the next morning, was a repetition of what had happened the night before.
At Dick's table the silence was absolute.
Even Captain Reid, cadet commissary, noticed it and understood, in his trip of inspection through mess hall.
The thing that Reid, who was an Army officer, did not know was—-who was the victim? He never guessed Prescott, who was class president, and believed to be one of the tallest of the class idols.
It speaks volumes for the intended justice of the cadets when they will, in time of fancied need, destroy even their idols.
Thus it went on for some days.
Dick performed all of his duties as usual, and as well as usual. Nothing in his demeanor showed how keenly he felt the humiliation that had been put upon him. Only in his failure to attempt any social address of a classmate did he betray his recognition of the silence.
Greg did his best to cheer up his chum. Anstey expressed greatest sorrow and sympathy for his friend Prescott. Holmes promptly reported this conversation to Dick. Other good friends expressed their sorrow to Holmes. In every case he bore the name and the implied message hastily to the young cadet captain.
A few whom Dick had considered his good friends did not thus put themselves on record. Dick thereupon understood that they had acted upon their best information and convictions, and he honored them for being able to put friendship aside in the interests of tradition and corps honor.
The silence had lasted five days when, one evening, a class meeting was called. Though Cadet Prescott was class president, he did not attend, for he knew very well that he was not wanted.
Greg's sense of delicacy told the latter that it was not for him to attend the meeting, either.
The vice president of the class was called to the chair. Then Durville and others made heated addresses in which they declared that Prescott could no longer consistently retain the class presidency.
A motion was made that Prescott be called upon to resign. It was seconded by several first classmen.
Then Anstey, the Virginian, claimed the floor in behalf of the humiliated class president. The blood of Virginian orators flowed in Anstey's veins, nor did he discredit his ancestry.
In an impassioned yet deliberate and logical speech Anstey declared that great injustice had been done Cadet Richard Prescott, and by the members of his own class.
"Every man within reach of my voice knows Mr. Prescott's record," declared the Virginian warmly. "When we were plebes, who stood up most staunchly as our class champion? Why, suh, why did we choose Mr. Prescott as our class president? Was it not because we believed, with all our hearts, that in Richard Prescott lay all the best elements of noble, upright and manly cadethood? Do you remember, suh, and fellow classmen, the wild enthusiasm that prevailed when we, by our suffrages, had declared Mr. Prescott to be our ideal of the man to lead the class in all the paths of honor?"
Anstey paused for an instant. Then, lowering his voice somewhat, he continued, with scathing irony:
"And now you give this best man of our class the silence, and seek to remove him from the presidency of the class!"
"It's a shame!" roared another cadet.
There were cheers.
"It is a shame," cried Anstey in a ringing voice. "And now you seek to deepen the shame by further degrading Prescott, who has always been the champion of our class. Mr. President, I move that we lay the motion on the table indefinitely. As soon as that has been done I shall make another motion, that we remove the silence from the grand, good fellow who has had it put upon him."
There were others, however, with nearly Anstey's gift for oratory. One of them now took the floor, pointing out that the class would not have rebuked Prescott for having reported Jordan in the tour of pontoon bridge construction.
"That may have been justified," continued the speaker. "But, afterwards, Mr. Jordan and Mr. Prescott had words. There must have been some bitterness in that. That same night Mr. Jordan was caught and reported by Mr. Prescott, who was not cadet officer of the day, and who therefore must have deliberately shadowed Mr. Jordan in order to catch him."
"Prescott did not shadow Mr. Jordan, or do anything of a sneaky nature," shouted Anstey.
"He refused to explain to our class committee how he happened to be on band at just the time to catch Jordan," shouted Durville.
"Then be assured he had a good military, a good soldierly, a good manly reason for his silence," clamored Anstey.
The meeting was an excited one from all points of view. In the end the best that the staunch friends of Dick could secure was that action on the resignation of the class presidency be deferred until a cooler hour, but that the silence be continued for the present.
And so the meeting broke up. Jordan had been dismayed, fearing that Anstey's impassioned speech might result in putting his enemy back into greater popularity than ever.
But now Jordan was reassured. He was satisfied that things were still moving in his direction, and that Prescott's proud spirit would soon lead him into some action that must make the breach with the class wider than ever.
At noon the next day Prescott returned from the second drill of the forenoon. In his absence a mail orderly had been around. An envelope lay on the table addressed to Dick.
"From Laura," he exclaimed in delight.
"That'll cheer you some," smiled Greg.
"Why it's postmarked from New York," continued Dick swiftly."Whew! She must be headed this way!"
Hurriedly Prescott tore the envelope open.
"It couldn't have happened at a worse time," he muttered, turning white.
"What?"
"Laura, Mrs. Bentley and Belle Meade are in New York, and will reach here this afternoon. Laura says they have learned that there is a hop on to-night, and they are bringing their prettiest frocks."
"Whew! That is a facer!" breathed Greg in perplexity.
"Of course I can't take Laura to the hop."
"You can, if you have the nerve," insisted Greg.
"And I have the nerve!" retorted Dick defiantly. "But how about Laura? She would discover, within a few minutes, that I am on strained terms with the other fellows. That would do worse than spoil her evening."
"Well," demanded Greg thoughtfully, "why do you need to take her to the hop?"
"Because she says that's what the girls have come for."
"Bother! Do you suppose it's you, or the hop, that Laura comes for?"
But Dick, instead of being cheered by this view, turned very white.
"I've got to tell her," he muttered hoarsely, "that I'm in eclipse. That the fellows have voted that I am not a fit associate for gentlemen."
"And I'll tell her a heap more," retorted Cadet Holmes. "Dick, do you think either of the girls would go back on you, just because a lot of raw, half-baked cadets have got you sized up wrong? Is that all the faith you have in your friends? And, especially, such a friend as Laura Bentley? Was that the way she acted when you were under charges of cribbing? You were in disgrace, then, weren't you? Did Laura look at you with anything but sympathy in her eyes?"
"No; heaven bless her!"
"Now, see here, Dick. If the girls are up here this evening, we won't take 'em to the hop. Instead, we'll sit out on the north porch at the hotel, with Mrs. Bentley near by. We'll have such a good old talk with the girls as we never could have at a hop."
"Everything in life would be easy, Greg, if you could explain it away," laughed Dick Prescott, but his tone was bitter.
"Well, as you can't take the girls to the hop, with any regard for their comfort, my plan is best of all, isn't it?"
"I—-I suppose so."
"So make the best of it, old ramrod. There's nothing so bad that it couldn't be a lot worse."
There was a long tour of work with the field battery guns that afternoon. For once Prescott found his mind entirely off his work. Nor could he rally his senses to his work. He got a low marking, indeed, in the instructor's record for that afternoon's work.
Then, hot, dusty and tired, this detachment of cadets came in from work.
In the visitors' seats, near headquarters, Dick and Greg espiedMrs. Bentley and the girls. How lovely the two latter looked!
The instant that ranks were broken Laura. and Belle were on their feet, glancing eagerly in the direction of their cadets. Dick and Greg had to go over, doff their campaign hats and shake hands with Mrs. Bentley and the girls.
"We've given you a surprise, this time," laughed Laura. "I hope you're pleased."
"Can you doubt it?" asked Dick so absently, so reluctantly, that Laura Bentley shot a swift, uneasy look at the handsome young cadet captain.
"You don't seem over delighted," broke in Belle Meade. "Gracious!I hope we haven't been indiscreet in coming almost unannounced?See here, you haven't invited any other girls to to-night's hop,have you?"
Both girls, flushed and rather uneasy looking, were now eyeing the two ill-at-ease young first classmen.
"No; we haven't invited anyone else. But there's something to be explained," replied Dick lamely. "Greg, you explain, won't you? And you'll all excuse me, won't you, while I hurry away to tog for dress parade?"
Laura's face was almost as white as Dick's had been at noon, as she gazed after the receding Prescott.
Then Greg, in his bluntest way, tried to put it all straight, and quickly, at that.
"Oh, is that all?" asked Belle with a sniff of contempt. "Why couldn't Dick remain and tell us himself? You cadets are certainly cowards in some things—-sometimes!"
But the tears were struggling for a front place in Laura's fine eyes.
"Is this 'silence' going to affect Dick very much in his career in the Army?" she asked with emotion.
"Not if his staunchest friends can prevent it," replied Greg almost fiercely. "And old ramrod has a host of friends in his class, at that."
"It's too bad they're not in the majority, then," murmured MissMeade.
"They will be, in the end," asserted Greg. "We're working things around to that point. You should have heard the fierce row we put up at the class meeting last night."
When it was too late Greg could have bitten his tongue.
"Class meeting?" asked Laura. "Then has there been further action taken?"
Greg nodded, biting his lips.
"What was last night's meeting held for?" persisted Laura.
"To try to oust Dick from the class presidency," confessed CadetHolmes.
"Did they do it?" quivered Laura Bentley.
"No!"
"Ah! Then the attempt was defeated. Dick is to retain the presidency of his class?"
"Action was deferred," replied Greg in a low voice.
He wished with all his heart he could get away, for he saw that, no matter how he tried to hedge the facts about, these keen-witted girls realized that Dick Prescott's plight was about as black as it could be for a young man who wanted, with all his soul, to remain in the military service of his country.
Belle, with her combination of impulsive temperament, good judgment and bluntness, came to the temporary rescue.
"Greg is trying to conceal the fact that he'll have a desperate rush to get into his dress uniform in time for parade," Miss Meade interposed. "Anyway, there's far more about this matter than we can understand in a moment. Greg, you and Dick can call on us at the hotel this evening, can't you?"
"We most surely can."
"Then come, as early as you can. We'll eat the earliest dinner we can get there, and be prepared for a long evening. Now, hurry to your tent, for I don't want to see you reported for being late at formation."
Between her visits to West Point, and her trips to Annapolis to see Dave Darrin, as related in the Annapolis Series, Belle had by this time a very considerable knowledge of formations, and of other incidents in the lives of Army and Navy cadets.
"This evening, then," replied Greg, shifting his campaign hat to the other hand and feeling like a man who has secured a reprieve.
"And give my love to Dick," Belle went on hastily, "and tell him that the President of the United States couldn't, if he wanted to, change our opinion of dear old Dick in the least."
"Thank you," bowed Greg, gratitude welling up in his heart.
"And you send him your love, don't you, Laura?" insisted Belle swiftly.
Laura recoiled quickly, flushing violently.
It was all right for Belle Meade to send her "love" to Prescott, for they were old friends, and Belle was known to be Dave Darrin's loyal sweetheart.
With Laura the situation was painfully different. She and Dick had been schoolboy and schoolgirl sweethearts, after a fashion, but Dick had never openly declared his love for her.
Would he misunderstand, and think her unwomanly?
She trembled with the sudden doubt at the thought.
Besides, another, a prosperous young merchant back in Gridley, had been ardent in his attentions to Miss Bentley.
"Of course Laura sends her love," broke in Greg promptly. "Who wouldn't, when the dear old fellow is in such a scrape? And I'll deliver the message of love from you both—-and from Mrs. Bentley, too?"
Greg looked inquiringly, but expectantly at Laura's mother, who nodded and smiled in ready sympathy.
Then Greg made his best soldier's bow and hastened off to his chum, whose heart he succeeded in gladdening somewhat while the two made all haste to get ready for parade call.
When the corps marched on to the field that afternoon, Mrs. Bentley and the girls were there among the eager spectators. Dick saw them almost instantly, and his heart bounded within him. It was Laura's mute message of sympathy and hope to him! He held up his head higher, if that were possible, and went through every movement with even more than his usual precision.
As the corps was marching off the field again, however, Dick's heart sank rapidly within him.
"If I have to leave the Army, I can never ask Laura for her love," he groaned wretchedly. "If I go from West Point as anything but a graduate and an officer, I shall have to start life all over again. It will take me years to find my place and get solidly on my feet I could never ask a girl to wait as long as that!"
In the early evening Laura, Belle and Mrs. Bentley were on the veranda near the hotel entrance. Cadets Jordan and Douglass made their appearance. Jordan had obtained official permission to present Douglass to his sister, who was to go to the hop that evening.
"By Jove, there's a spoony femme (pretty girl) over there," breathedJordan in Douglass' ear. "You don't happen to know her, do you?"
"Why, yes, that's Miss Bentley, and the other is Miss Meade.The chaperon is Miss Bentley's mother," replied Cadet Douglass.
"You know them?" throbbed Jordan, his eyes resting eagerly onLaura's face. "What luck! Present me, old chap!"
So Douglass, who, in some respects, had a bad memory, piloted his classmate over to the ladies and halted.
"Good evening, ladies," greeted Douglass, raising his uniformcap in his most polished manner. "Mrs. Bentley, Miss Bentley,Miss Meade, will you permit me to present my friend and classmateMr. Jordan?"
Belle, who was nearest, bowed and held out her hand.
But Laura drew herself up haughtily. "Mr. Douglass," she answered coldly, "my apologies to you, but I don't wish to know—-Mr. Jordan!"
Belle caught the name again, and remembered.
"Oh!" she cried, snatching her hand away ere Jordan could touch it.
"I'm sorry, ladies," stammered Douglass. But they found themselves confronted by rear views of two shapely pairs of young shoulders, while Mrs. Bentley had the air of looking through the young men without being able to see either.
Two very much disconcerted cadets, and very red in the face, stiffly resumed their caps and marched away.
"Great Scott, what did that mean?" gasped Jordan, struck all in a heap by his strange reception.
Cadet Douglass gasped.
"Jordan," he exclaimed contritely, "I'm the greatest ass in the corps!"
"You must be!" exploded Dick's enemy. "But what was the cause of it all?"
"Why, Jordan, you—-you see——-"
"Who is Miss Bentley?"
"Jordan, she's Prescott's girl!"
"What?" gasped the other cadet, staring at his classmate.
"Fact!"
"Prescott's—-girl?"
"Yes."
"Jove, a puppy like Prescott has no business with a superb girl like that."
"All the same, Jordan, the fact will prevent you from knowing her."
"Now, I'm not so sure of that!" cried Jordan suddenly, with strange fire in his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing," mumbled Jordan, suddenly recovering himself.
Then, under his breath, he chuckled gleefully:
"Miss Bentley is just struck on the uniform, of course. A girl like that couldn't care for a misfit like Prescott. Well, he won't be in the uniform much longer. I won't lose sight of Miss Bentley. I'll find her again when Prescott is out of the uniform for good!"
Now, aloud, he asked:
"Doug, do you happen to remember Miss Bentley's first name?"
"Larry," answered Cadet Douglass absently.
"Stop that!" cried Jordan almost fiercely.
"Oh, a thousand pardons, Jordan. I'm so rattled I don't know what I'm doing or saying. The girl's first name is Laura. Peach, isn't she?"
"Laura! That's a sweet name," murmured Jordan to himself. His mind was now running riot, not only with plans to drive Dick Prescott out of the Army, but also to win the heart of Laura Bentley.
"Hold on, Jord," begged Douglass, halting and leaning against a post in the veranda structure. "Don't take me to your sister just yet. Let me get my breath, my nerves, my wits back again."
"Take an hour," advised Jordan laconically. "You need it. Didn't you know Miss Bentley was Prescott's girl?"
"Yes; but it had slipped my memory. It's mighty hard, when you come to think of it, to remember the girls of so many hundreds of fellows," explained Cadet Douglass plaintively.
Ten minutes later Dick and Greg appeared, greeting the ladies. Mrs. Bentley assented to their going around to the north side of the porch, whence they could look up the river to the lights of Newburgh.
"We very nearly had an adventure, Dick," laughed Belle.
"Yes?"
"We very nearly shook hands with Mr. Jordan. It was Laura's quick cry that saved me, just in the nick of time, from touching hands with the fellow."
Miss Meade then related their experience, and the discomfiture of Cadets Douglass and Jordan.
"That's just about like Doug," observed Greg Holmes. "I'll bet he never thought until Laura called off the signal for the kick."
"What's that?" demanded Miss Bentley.
"Pardon me," apologized Greg. "I think in football terms altogether too often. But I'm glad Jordan saw the goal and then lost it."
"I think Dick wants to tell us something about the fellow Jordan, and some of the other cadets," Belle hinted.
Between them the chums told the story of how the "silence" had come to be imposed. Prescott did not, however, tell his feminine visitors how he had happened to catch Jordan outside the guard line.
"How did that happen?" asked Laura innocently.
"Now, I'd tell you before I would any one else on earth," protested Dick with warmth, "but I haven't told Greg or anyone else. I had good military reasons, not personal ones."
"Oh!" replied Laura. And, not understanding, she felt more than a little hurt by Dick's failure to answer frankly.
Both girls, however, talked very comfortingly, and Mrs. Bentley very sensibly aided their efforts. All three tried to make it quite plain to Dick Prescott that no amount, or consequence, of lack of understanding by his classmates could make any difference with his standing in their eyes.
Presently Mrs. Bentley consented to the girls strolling down the road between the hotel and cadet barracks. Dick, of course, walked with Laura, while Greg and Belle remained at a discreet, out-of-earshot distance.
At last they stood again by the gateway through the shrubbery at the edge of the hotel grounds.
"Dick——-" began Laura hesitatingly.
"Yes?" asked the young cadet captain.
"Dick, no matter how far your classmates push this matter," begged Laura, her eyes big and earnest, "don't let their acts force you out of the Army. No matter what happens—-stick!"
Cadet Prescott shook his head wearily. "I can't stick," he replied firmly, "if I am shown that my presence in the Army is not going to be for the good and the harmony of the service!"
Laura sighed. Another keen pang of disappointment, was hers.
She now believed that her influence over Dick Prescott was not anywhere near as strong as she had hoped it would be.
A very wretched girl rested her head on a pillow that night, and slept but poorly.
In the forenoon, while the corps was absent on an infantry practice march, Laura, her mother and her friend went dejectedly away from West Point.
The furloughed second class returned, the encampment ended and the corps marched back into cadet barracks.
The new academic year had begun, with new text-books, new studies, new intellectual torments for the hundreds of ambitious young soldiers at the United States Military Academy.
By this time both Dick and Greg had acquired the habits of study so thoroughly that neither any longer feared for his standing or markings.
To Prescott there was one big comfort about being back in the old, gray cadet barracks.
The silence put upon Dick was not now quite as much in evidence. With long study hours, Prescott had not so much need to meet his classmates.
In the section rooms nothing in the deportment of the other cadets could emphasize the silence.
It was only in the authorized visiting hours that Prescott noted the change keenly.
Of course, according to the traditions of the Military Academy, Anstey and all the other loyal friends who ached to call were barred from so doing.
While taps sounds at ten o'clock, and members of the three lower classes must be in bed, with lights out, at the first sound of taps, first classmen are privileged, whenever they wish, to run a light until eleven at night, provided the extra time be spent in study.
One evening in early September, Dick and Greg were both busy at study table, when Dick chanced to look over some papers connected with his studies. As he did so, he drew out an officially backed sheet, and started.
"Jupiter!" he muttered. "I should have turned this in before supper formation."
"Who gets the report?" asked Greg, looking up.
"It goes to the officer in charge," Dick answered.
"Oh, well, he's up yet. You can slip over to his office with it," replied Greg easily.
"And I'll do it at once. It may mean a demerit or two, for lack of punctuality, but I'm glad it's no worse."
Jumping up and donning his fatigue cap, Prescott thrust the neglected official report into the breast of his uniform blouse, soldier fashion.
Then he walked slowly out, halting just inside the subdivision door.
"I don't mind a few demerits, but I don't like to be accused of unsoldierly neglect," mused the young cadet captain. "Let me see if I can think up a way of presenting my statement so that the O.C. won't scorch me."
As Dick stood there in the gloom, a quick, soft step sounded outside. Then the door was carefully opened, and a young man in citizen's dress entered.
Civilians rarely have a right, to be in cadet barracks at any time of the day. It is wholly out of the question for one to enter barracks after taps.
"What are you doing in here, sir?" Dick questioned sternly, putting out his hand to take the other's arm.
Then the young cadet captain drew back in near-horror.
"Good heavens! Durville?" he gasped.
"Yes. Sh!" whispered the other cadet, slinking back, a frightened look in his eyes.
No cadet, while at West Point, may, without proper permission, appear in any clothing save the uniform of the day or of the tour. No cadet ever attempts to don "cits." unless he is up to some grave mischief, such as leaving the post.
"Don't say a word! Let me reach my room!" whispered Durville hoarsely.
Dick Prescott wished, with all his heart, to be able to comply with the other cadet's frenzied request.
But duty stepped in with loud voice. As a cadet officer, as captain of Durville's company, Prescott had no alternative within the lines of that duty. He must report Cadet Durville.
"Now, don't look at me so strangely," begged Durville. "Let me go by, and tell me you'll keep this quiet. By Jove, Prescott, you know what it means to me if I'm placed on report for—-this!"
"Yes, I know," nodded Dick, dejectedly, and speaking as hoarsely as did the other man. "Oh, Durville, I wish I could do it, but——-"
Dick had to clench his fists and gulp hard. Then the soldier in him triumphed.
"Mr. Durville"—-he spoke in an impassive official tone, now—-"you will accompany me to the office of the officer in charge, and will there make such official explanation as you may choose."
"Prescott, for the love of——-" began the other over again, in trembling desperation.
"About face, Mr. Durville. Forward!"
Now, all the gameness in the other cadet came to the surface. He wheeled about, head up, his clenched fists seeking the seams of his condemning "cit." trousers. Durville marched defiantly out into the quadrangle, across and into the cadet guard house, up the flight of stairs and into the office of the officer in charge.
Lieutenant Denton was again O.C. that night.
Both cadets saluted when they entered after knocking.
Lieutenant Denton glanced in sheer dismay at the "cit." clothes worn by Durville.
"Sir," began Dick huskily, "I regret being obliged to report that I just discovered Mr. Durville entering the sub-division in citizen's dress."
"Have you any explanation to offer, Mr. Durville?" asked LieutenantDenton in his official tone.
"None, sir."
"Very good, Mr. Durville. You will go to your room and remain in close arrest until you receive further official communication in this matter."
"Very good, sir."
Durville spoke in steady, if icy tones, as he saluted and made this response.
"That is all, Mr. Durville."
"Very good, sir."
Like one frozen, the cadet in unfamiliar attire turned and left the office.
"How did you happen to make the discovery, Mr. Prescott?" gasped the O.C.
"I discovered, sir, that I had overlooked this report, which I now turn in, sir," Dick replied rather hoarsely. "It was just as I was about to leave the sub-division that Mr. Durville came in. I had no alternative but to report him, sir."
"You are right, Mr. Prescott. As a cadet officer you had no alternative."
Then, with a memory of his own West Point days, Lieutenant Denton unbent enough to remark feelingly:
"You have unassailable courage, too, Mr. Prescott."
"Thank you, sir."
"Is that all?"
"You have finished your official business?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good night," Mr. Prescott.
"Good night, sir."
Saluting, Dick turned from the office. As he pushed open the door and reentered the subdivision, he beheld Durville, standing there with arms folded.
"Possibly at the risk of being reported for breaking my arrest, Mr. Prescott," began Durville, "I have lingered here to say to you that you have succeeded in wreaking a most complete revenge upon one who led a bit in having the silence conferred upon you."
All Dick's reserve melted for an instant.
"Durville, man—-you—-don't believe I did this for—-for revenge?"Prescott demanded.
Cadet Durville smiled sarcastically.
"I shall undoubtedly be broken for this night's affair, Mr. Prescott, and you and the rest will continue to believe that I was absent merely on some vulgar escapade! I go, now, to my arrest, which is doubtless the last military service I shall be called upon to render. Mr. Prescott, I congratulate you, sir, upon your ability to spy upon other men and to serve your highest ideas of suitable vengeance."
Gloomily Durville turned to his room. Dick almost stumbled to his own quarters.
Greg Holmes's face blanched when he heard the news.
"There'll be fine class ructions by to-morrow!" he told himself with unwonted grimness.
By the time the corps of cadets was seated at breakfast, in the great mess hall, the following morning, the news began to circulate rapidly.
It was discussed in low tones at every table save that at which the silence against Prescott prevailed.
The silence by this time had ceased to be literal, except so far as it applied to Dick. Other cadets at his table talked among themselves, though never to Prescott. Greg, being Dick's roommate, was the sole cadet exempted from this rule.
But the men at Prescott's table restrained their curiosity until the two battalions had marched back to barracks and had been dismissed.
After the dismissal of the companies Dick and Greg strolled along slowly. Wherever they passed backs were turned to them, though this would not have happened to Holmes had he been alone.
Though the news was discussed, no class action was taken. This must not be done until Durville's fate had overtaken him. Otherwise, the Military Academy authorities might take such action as defiant and visit a more severe penalty upon Cadet Durville.
For five days Durville remained in close arrest. This meant, to the initiated, that the Superintendent had taken up the matter with the War Department at Washington.
On the sixth day Durville was once more sent for by the commandant of cadets. His sentence was handed out to him. On account of an academic reputation of high grade, and a hitherto good-conduct report, Mr. Durville was not dropped from the corps. Had the offender, before leaving West Point in "cits.," gone to the cadet guard house and made any false report concerning his absence, nothing could have saved him from dismissal for making a false official report. All things being taken into consideration, Cadet Durville was "let off" with loss of privileges up to the time of semi-annual examinations, with, in addition, the walking of punishment tours every Saturday afternoon during the same period.
Now the gathering wrath broke loose upon Dick. A class meeting was called, that neither Prescott nor Holmes could attend with propriety.
Durville, as a matter of policy, did not attend, but there were not wanting first classmen who looked upon Durville as a sacrifice, and who were fully capable of presenting his side of the case at the meeting.
Upon Anstey, as on a former occasion, fell the task of makingPrescott's side clear.
The class meeting had not been in session many minutes when Dick's accusers had made it rather plain that Mr. Prescott, following his previous course with Jordan, had revenged himself also on Durville, who had taken an active part in securing the imposition of the silence.
Anstey took the floor in a fiery defence. He brought forth the statement that Prescott had not made any attempt to pry into the goings or comings of the unlucky Durville. The Virginian declared that Prescott had happened to be abroad in time to "catch" Mr. Durville, simply because Prescott had started for the office of the officer in charge with an official paper that he had been tardy about turning in.
Though Anstey dwelt upon this side of the case with consummate oratory, the defence was regarded as "too transparent." Anstey's good faith was not questioned, but Prescott's was.
In the turmoil the office of class president was declared vacant. Anstey was nominated for the office just made vacant, but, with cold politeness, he refused what, at any other time, would have been a high honor.
Cadet Douglass was presently elected class president.
Then further action was taken with regard to Cadet Richard Prescott. Without further debate a motion was carried that Prescott be sent to Coventry for good and all.
The class meeting adjourned, and upon Greg Holmes, who was informed by Anstey, fell the task of carrying the decision to Dick.
"I expected it, Holmesy," was Dick's quiet reply.
"Buck up, anyway, old ramrod," begged Greg. "This terrible mess will all be straightened out before graduation."
"Not in time to do me any good," replied Dick gloomily.
"Now what do you mean?"
But Dick closed his jaws firmly.
Greg knew better than to press his questioning further, just then. He contented himself with crossing the room, resting both hands on Dick's shoulders.
"Now, old ramrod, just remember this: Into every life a good deal of trouble comes. It is up to each fellow, in his own case, to show how much of a man he is. The fellow who lies down, or runs away, isn't a man. The fellow who fights his trouble out to a grim finish, is a man every inch of his five or six feet! The class is wild, just now, but on misinformation. Fight it out! Enemies of yours have brought you to this pass. Don't run away! All your friends are with you as much as ever they were."
Dick was a good deal affected.
"Believe me, Greg, whatever I decide on doing won't be in the line of running away. Whatever I decide upon will be what I finally believe to be for the best good of the service."
"Humph!" muttered Greg, looking wonderingly at his chum.
In the closing period of the next forenoon Dick's section did not recite. Greg's did. So Prescott was left alone in the room with his books.
Despite himself, Greg was so worried, during that recitation, that he "fessed cold"—-that is, he secured a mark but a very little above zero.
As soon as the returning section was dismissed Cadet Holmes, his heart beating fast, hurried to his room.
There sat Dick, at the study table, as Greg had left him. But Prescott had pushed his textbooks aside. Before him rested only a sheet of paper. With pen in hand Prescott wrote something at the bottom just as Holmes entered the room. Then Dick looked up with a half cheery face.
"I've done it, Greg," he announced simply, in a hard, dry voice.
"Done it?" echoed Cadet Holmes. "What?"
"I have written my resignation as a member of the corps of cadets,United States Military Academy."
"Bosh!" roared Cadet Holmes in a great rage. "The resignation is written, signed, and—-it sticks!" returned Dick Prescott with quiet emphasis.