"Hear! Hear!" cried a dozen at once.

"But, gentlemen," continued the new cla.s.s president, "next June we shall be yearlings. There will be a new lot of plebes here, and I feel rather certain that we shall treat them just about as we are now being treated."

There were murmurs of dissent at this.

"For generations," continued Cadet Prescott, "the plebe at West Point has had to rough it. You are all familiar with the truism that a soldier must learn to obey before he is fit for command. In much the same way, I fancy, the plebe must travel a rough road before he is thoroughly broken in and fitted to enjoy the delights of full equality and recognition with upper cla.s.s men.

"We are no more put upon than was every present upper cla.s.s man during his first year here. When we reach the sublime heights on which the yearlings dwell I believe that we shall look back and appreciate the fact that we truly needed some round thrashing into shape. We shall feel grateful to our present enemies, the yearlings--and we will turn around and help the new lot of plebes through the same kind of first-year life. In the meantime, cla.s.smates, I earnestly advise that we establish at least one record here. Let us, from now on, prove ourselves to be the gamest of plebes who have suffered here in many a year. The more patiently we bear it now, in all patience, the better yearlings, the better second cla.s.s men and first cla.s.s men we shall be when our time comes. The motto of a famous sovereign is, 'I serve.' Let our plebe cla.s.s motto be, 'I grin and bear.'"

This wasn't exactly what the plebes had been expecting from their new leader. For a few moments after d.i.c.k sat down there was silence. Then a half dozen began to applaud. The noise grew, until half the plebes were cheering.

"Thank you, gentlemen," smiled the cla.s.s president. "I think we are now well started on the way to becoming useful members of the Army."

"What do you think of our new leader?" one of Bert Dodge's late supporters asked that young man after the meeting had broken up.

"We're going to have a boot-lick president," growled Bert.

"Then there's a strong boot-lick sentiment in the cla.s.s," returned the other cadet. "But I think Mr. Prescott is going to head a manlier lot than we were yesterday."

When Anstey entered their room at barracks Dodge refused to notice him, or to answer a pleasant greeting.

"I have been trying to forgive d.i.c.k Prescott for all of the past,"

Cadet Dodge told himself darkly. "I wanted to start a new life, for both of us, here at West Point. But the fellow won't let me. He is always getting in my way. Oh, what a laugh there'll be in Gridley, among the mucker part of the population, when they find that I'm not cla.s.s president, but that d.i.c.k Prescott is!"

Even after he lay in bed, following taps, Bert Dodge could not sleep. He lay tossing restlessly, dark thoughts surging through his mind.

"No place on earth seems large enough for d.i.c.k Prescott and me together!" muttered Dodge in the dark. "d.i.c.k Prescott, if I haven't lost my cunning you shan't be here much longer."

But the forcing of d.i.c.k Prescott out of the West Point cadet corps was not easy to accomplish nor were ways of doing it to be come upon quickly.

First, Mr. Dodge realized that he was falling behind in mathematics, and for weeks he had to give all his energy to keeping a place in the cla.s.s.

Finally January came and with it examinations. The plebe escapes written examinations if he has shown proficiency in the general review of the first half of the academic year. d.i.c.k and Greg got through without these "writs." Bert Dodge was compelled to face the written test in mathematics, but he made the grade and stayed on. He was gratified, for thirty-one of the plebes were dropped after this examination.

"I've got to stay on," Bert Dodge had ground out between his teeth.

"If I'm to be dropped from West Point, it must be after I've found a way to send d.i.c.k Prescott back to Gridley ahead of me!"

Spring came, and still Bert's opportunity was lacking. He and Anstey greeted each other, but that was about all the communication the two held. Yet, one night, having noted the fact that for some time Dodge had seemed depressed, the Virginian asked:

"What's wrong, Mr. Dodge? Anything in which another fellow can lend a hand?"

"Nothing's wrong," replied Dodge shortly, and turned at once to his books. Still his gloom continued, and one evening not long after Anstey said to d.i.c.k and Greg:

"That townsman of yours is so deep in gloom that it's like living in an unlighted cave to be in the same room with him. What's wrong, do you suppose?"

"No telling," replied d.i.c.k. "Just disposition, I presume. He's no longer a townsman of ours, by the way."

"Do you note really savage looks on his face?" put in Cadet Holmes.

"Don't I, though!"

"Then Bert Dodge has a mean streak on and is plotting mischief to some one!"

"Is he underhanded and treacherous?" demanded Anstey quickly.

Prescott hesitated a moment, then said:

"Perhaps you'd better keep your eyes open. You're pretty close to him, and you don't want him to do anything to bring your record in question. Still, so far as any of us knows, he's been honorable and square here; so let's give the fellow his chance and say nothing to prejudice any one else."

"You're right, d.i.c.k. Still, I wish something would pull the fellow out of his gloom. It spreads thick through the whole room."

The truth was that because he could think of no feasible plan to drive Prescott from the Military Academy, Bert Dodge had become morose and irritable. But at last he thought he saw his chance.

It was May when Greg Holmes received a telegram that an aunt of his of whom he had always been fond had died. Another telegram from Greg's father to Superintendent Martin asked that the boy be allowed to go home for the funeral. After an inquiry as to Greg's standing in cla.s.s, Colonel Martin granted the permission, handing Holmes the money his father had telegraphed for the purpose.

When Bert Dodge saw Greg leave the Academy his eyes lighted up.

"Prescott will be alone in his room," he muttered in evil glee.

"There'll be times when he'll be out; but I'll have to work quickly!"

Then a gleam came into his eyes. "Prescott will be in Lieutenant Pierson's quarters talking over football plans to-morrow night.

That's my chance!"

CHAPTER XIX

THE PROWLER IN QUARTERS

At eleven o'clock the next morning Bert Dodge stepped up to another cadet known as the "sick-marcher." Together they went to the hospital where Dodge reported to the medical officer in charge.

"What's the trouble, Mr. Dodge?" asked the surgeon, reaching for the plebe's pulse.

"Chills, sir, mumbled the cadet.

"Chills? Your pulse is a bit rapid, but not suspiciously so. Let me place this thermometer in your mouth."

After two minutes Captain Goodwin removed the thermometer and held it up.

"Normal," he observed, a bit puzzled. "Dead-beating," as it is called, or trying to get into the hospital when there is no need, is not unknown to the surgeons at the Military Academy. But when done, it is usually tried before a boy has been there a year. "How long have you felt this way?"

"For about twenty-four hours, sir."

"Perhaps I'd better mark you 'quarters' for twenty-four hours to come," said the surgeon, eyeing Dodge closely.

Dodge squirmed. This was what he did not want. Being ordered to quarters would keep him in his room.

"I've been fighting this off in my room, sir," replied Dodge haltingly. "I don't feel well, and I thought that a day or two here, resting in bed under a doctor's eye, might set me up."