This was equivalent to a command, and Dutton grudingly complied.

"Do you think he will be better friends with you after this?" asked Paul, as he and d.i.c.k walked away together.

"I hope so, but I doubt it."

d.i.c.k was right. Though he had gained the victory he had whipped one of the most popular cadets, which Dutton was, in spite of his caddishness.

Our hero's victory took nothing away from the regard in which Dutton was held, while, as for d.i.c.k, save a few friends whom he had made among the younger lads, he was not admitted to the comradeship of the older cadets, to which place, of right, he belonged. The fight had not made him popular, as he had hoped it would, after he had won it, though the sporting element in the academy could not but admire his fistic abilities.

"I don't seem to be making much progress," remarked d.i.c.k to his roommate, one afternoon. "You have more friends than I have."

"Oh, I don't think so."

"Yes, you have. It would be different, if I was at home, but here, everyone seems to follow Dutton's lead, and turns a cold shoulder to me."

"Maybe you'll have more acquaintances next term."

"I doubt it. I wish I could get in with the fellows. They'll be making up the football eleven, soon, and I'd like a chance to play."

"Do you play?"

"I did at home. I was right half-back. But I don't s'pose I'll have any show here."

"I tell you what you might do," said Paul, after a pause. "Why don't you give a spread?"

"A spread?"

"Yes, a feast, you know. You can get permission to have it in one of the rooms, and you can invite a lot of the fellows. Several of the new fellows have done that, and some of them got proposed for membership in the Sacred Pig society."

This was one of the exclusive secret organizations of the academy, and d.i.c.k, as well as many others, wished to join. But one had to be invited to apply for membership, and only those students on whom the seal of approval was set by the older cadets had this honor.

"Do you think that would do any good?" asked d.i.c.k.

"It might."

"Then I'll try. Here's a chance where I can use some of my money. If this plan doesn't work, I have another that I'll spring."

"What is it?"

"Well, I don't want to say yet. I may want to get you to help me at it, though."

"I'll do anything I can."

"I know you will, Paul. I wish there were more like you."

d.i.c.k obtained permission from Colonel Masterly to give a spread in one of the barrack rooms, and he made elaborate preparations for it. A town caterer was given orders to supply a fine supper, and then d.i.c.k sent out his invitations. He included all the lads in his cla.s.s, and every member of the so-called "sporting crowd."

"Are you going to invite Dutton?" asked Paul.

"Of course. I want him more than all the others. If he would drop his hard feelings we could be friends."

"After he tried to get you into trouble about your dog, and the firing of the cannon?"

"Do you think he did?"

"I'm sure of it, and so are lots of others."

"Captain Hayden can't seem to find out anything about it."

"No, because all of Dutton's cronies are keeping mum. But I'm sure he did it."

"Well, I'll forgive him, if he'll be friends. I got even by whipping him, I guess."

"Perhaps, though I don't believe he thinks so."

d.i.c.k received acceptances from nearly all the lads in his cla.s.s, but regarding the others he heard nothing, and did not know whether they would come or not. He hoped they would--particularly Dutton and his chums.

On the afternoon of the evening on which d.i.c.k's spread was to come off, he met Dutton and Stiver on the campus.

"Let's see, isn't your spread to-morrow night?" asked Stiver, with studied carelessness.

"It's to-night," said d.i.c.k, pleasantly. "I hope you are both coming."

"I'll see," answered Stiver.

"Is there going to be anything to drink?" asked Dutton with a covert sneer.

"Lemonade," replied d.i.c.k promptly.

"Is that all? I should think a millionaire cadet like you would provide champagne; or at least beer."

"It's against the rules," said d.i.c.k.

"Then you'll have some cigars."

"No."

"Cigarettes then?"

"No."

"I suppose you'll give us malted milk and crackers," sneered Dutton, as he turned aside. "I don't think that will suit us. Eh, Stiver?"

"No indeed. I thought you wanted to be a sport, Hamilton?"

"I don't care about breaking rules," replied d.i.c.k. "Besides, I don't use tobacco or liquor."

"Ah, he's a regular Sunday school brand of millionaire," remarked Dutton, with a mean laugh. "He gives his money to the heathen, instead of buying cigars. Come on, Stiver."